poeticdesires

Month: January 2012

  • She Saw, He Saw

    Walking into the tavern, she saw him almost instantly. His tall and brood frame stood out often, especially among groups. He looked relaxed, at ease, possibly tipsy. He drank and spoke animatedly to their friends. She walked over to the bar and ordered a drink.

    He saw her as soon as she entered. To him she seemed to breeze in, glide across the sticky wooden floor, and lightly land at the bar. If there were cares in her world, they were far far away. He envied her ease in the aspects of her life that he glimpsed on their weekly encounters at the tavern.

    She peaked over and saw him leaning against the wall, a pretty girl so close to his frame. The girl was young and smiling, seemingly happy for the attention of this big strong man, this handsome individual that decided to talk to her. She saw the girl bat her eyes, toss her hair, and sip her drink slowly. She saw what she could and would never do, never be. She returned to her conversation.

    His eyes found her across the bar, sitting on a couch, talking to a group of their friends. Her face was animated, possibly telling a story, maybe recounting one of her many adventures. She had so many to tell. She wasn’t like the vapid young girl who captured his current attention, if you can call practicing flirting on an easy mark attention. He admired her gumption, her constant efforts to push herself, to take risks. She had seen more, done more in her two years since breaking free of social constraints than he had even dared in his ten years free of his old repressive beliefs. She was everything he dreamed he could be, but never dared try. How he envied and loved her for this.

    As she paid her tab, she saw him sitting, alone at a table, fiddling on his phone. It was late; most of the regular crowd was gone. This was fairly normal; both she and he tended to be one of the last to leave. As she tipped the bartender, she weighed whether she should approach him, whether she should try to strike up a conversation so late in the night. He was surely tired; she was exhausted from her long day. But the idea of spending just ten minutes with him made her heart sing. However her decision was made for her when she saw the young girl return from the ladies’ room, sit next to him, and drape her leg over his lap. She gripped her purse a little tighter and briskly walked out the door.

    He loved the arch of her back when she leaned against the bar and stood slightly on her tippy toes to get the bartender’s attention. It was late, so she must have been cashing out. In his mind, he ran through the things he might say to her. What new and kinky things had she gotten into? Did she have any plans for the upcoming hotel event? Would she be interested in playing with him? The thought of her naked flesh offered up to his powerful hands more than excited both his mind and body. As she finished, he mentally prepared himself to approach. But just as he would get up, the vapid girl returned. He hadn’t even realized she was still there. She sat next to him, asking what he had in mind for the rest of his evening, and draped her leg over his lap. He calmly, sweetly began turning the girl down, trying to explain he had just met her and he did not take the leap to the bedroom so quickly. He wanted her gone, but meant her no harm. When he felt she got the picture, when the girl understood she would not have him that night, the one he wanted was almost out the door. He saw the final few strands of her hair trial behind as she left.

  • First Day Back

    I woke up to an alarm today, a day which will not be full of fun.

    Unlike previous years, I have come to a point in my career (wow, I can call it that now) that I get work during our slow season. Not a huge amount; I won’t be swamped like I will be March through June, but enough to get by. I’m experimenting this month with not tapping into my savings and seeing if I can, miracle of all miracles, pay all my bills without touching the little bit I stashed away when times were good.

    But, unfortunately, that brings me to today, this morning, at 7:25am right now. I’m writing, I’m tired, and all I want to do is go back to sleep.

    I cannot stand the first day back; I never have. My body got into a rhythm of waking up by my roommate’s knock on my door. I’d drop her off at work, read a book in my car for an hour (I’m quirky; just accept it), exercise, eat lunch, write, chat with the other roomie who gets home early, and then pick up my first roomie from work or meet her at a Happy Hour.

    This pattern would be all well and good if I made any money during the day. But, since I don’t have a five figure book deal that includes a share of the profits from units sold… Nope, I’m not Stephen King yet, so this routine, though lovely, was fleeting.

    There are somethings I feel now that I felt back when I had to go back to school after Winter Break: a stiffness in my neck from stress, the intoxicating allure of my bed, my emotional temper tantrum after I hit the snooze button for the fifth time.

    However I endure. I guess the shitty part of all this is I’m not making much money today, about $80 before taxes. It’s simple menial work, but it’s work. And it’s $80 more than I had yesterday. And I’ll make another $80 tomorrow, and another $80 on Thursday. And, after having lived through five years of this business and having years where I did not get any work during the slow season, I really can’t say no to it now, as low paying as it may be. At least I’ll finish before midnight, which I will not be able to say in a month.

  • Nag

    Recently I acted like a well adjusted emotionally aware adult.

    I received a request from a friend, to which I immediately and gladly said yes. But, as soon as I gave my agreement, there was a nag in the back of my throat, a little pop in my brain. I felt something, I wasn’t quite sure what, but I knew I needed to talk to them about it.

    So, being the highly evolved person that I am, I actually spoke up. I quite inarticulately expressed my feelings, my reservations. In stumbling language, I described my nag. Together, we worked through my issue. We are now good.

    I feel the need to write about this moment for one very big reason.

    In a previous post I spoke about the three words that I would like to color my year (bravery, forgiveness, and endurance). In this instance, I could have reacted differently. I could have swallowed my feelings. I could have seen this as me being petty or envious or “over emotional.” I could have ignored that nag and tried to move on.  But I didn’t.

    Instead, I forgave myself for having the feeling, because I was feeling quite guilty over my emotions. I was brave and spoke to my friend almost immediately about it. I stopped myself from accepting the hurt and found a way to move beyond the moment. I thought about and spoke about my feelings. I talked it out and came to multiple acceptable conclusions. I helped make myself feel better without sacrificing myself as a person.

    So far, almost two weeks into my three words year, I’m liking the results. Let’s see if I can keep this up.

  • [image]

    ~erotica~

    – Send me a picture.

    * Of what?

    – Send me a picture.

    * Of… what? 😀

    – You know what.

    * And yet I keep asking.

    – Be creative.

    * Ok.

    * [image]

    * Guess the body part.

    – Mmm, a game. I will say… hand.

    * Good. Now, your turn.

    – [image]

    * I don’t have to guess what that is.

    – Really? But it’s covered by clothing.

    * Its form is distinct.

    – Yeah, I like to think so.

    * [image]

    – Ah, that’s my head rest.

    * Correct, and it’s cold without your lips warming it.

    – I bet I know somewhere on your body that is very warm.

    * And wet.

    – I’m sure.

    * When do you get home tonight?

    – Late.

    * Boo. And here I was going to show you my new night shirt.

    * [image]

    – O.o

    – 😀

    * Sure you can’t, um, catch a cold?

    – I am feeling awfully feverish right now.

    * Flushed?

    – Positively sweltering.

    * Perspiring?

    – Buckets.

    * Shivers?

    – Yes, but for some reason only near my abdomen.

    * What an odd symptom.

    – Absolutely baffling.

    * You should have that looked at. And I, being a doctor and all, would be more than happy to…fit you in.

    – Your bedside care?

    * Very attentive, hands on healing.

    – I will need all your skill to work out the, um, kinks.

    * All your kinks will get worked out, as soon as you get your cute ass home.

    – Speaking of, can I get one more piece of motivation to get through my day?

    *[image]

    * Like?

    – Oh yes. Spank you very much.

    * You better.

  • Intoxicating

    From my experience at Dirty Things…

    I sat on the floor, naked, my chest covered in ash. The Girl sat next to me, naked save for garters and stockings. Her Daddy sat in a chair beside us. The Empath barely stood, as far away as she could be in the small ten-by-ten room.

    I relished being in their presence, smoke sticking to my skin and in my hair. I relished the sight of the body of the Girl, so beautiful, so close to me. But, most of all, I relished the power her Daddy held over her.

    “Cum.” With one word, the Girl’s body moved, flexed, bent to his will. Her breathing increased. Her hands struggled to find a hold. The reaction was definite and magical.

    “Cum harder.” The Girl’s breathing grew heavier. Her frame shuddered. Her Daddy held a hand against her back for support, lest she fall over.

    “Now, direct it.”

    “NO!” The Empath protested fervently. The effect the Daddy’s manipulation of his Girl on the Empath was more than magical; it was wondrous. The Empath felt the Girl’s orgasm. The swell rolled through her body as well. The Empath was caught in a trap, unable to be released. She could just barely keep herself up against the wall.

    The Girl was new to her control, new to this sensation. The Girl did not know, yet, how to guide her energy. The Empath only found small relief in this. She still felt uneven passion ebbing across the room to her; she still could not get away.

    As I sat and watched, something else happened in that room, something I would not reveal to those around me. As the Girl tried to direct her shudders and starts to the Empath, tried to grow and release her ball of energy, I began to feel it. A soft pulse of lust emitted from her body. I was so close to her, a breath away.

    It wasn’t obvious at first, just a slight warmth in my abdomen. But it grew. And grew, as the Girl sought to manipulate the Empath.

    I kept quiet. I continued to smile. I now relished in the growing warmth inside me. I let the delicious sensation roll around. However, I did not allow myself to get lost in it. I slowly let it melt in, instead of letting it takeover.

    Later that night, long after the Daddy was finished having his fun with the Empath, after my multiple rope moments, when everyone gathered their things to go, I sought out the Girl. I would not leave without saying goodnight.

    I floated on a rope high through the room. I saw her, as bubbly and beautiful as I’d always seen her. I breezed over, smiling; she always made me smile. She saw the change in me, the delicate balance as I hung in the air.

    We hugged our bodies into each other. She lightly kissed the nape of my neck. I nuzzled into hers. Our cheeks found each others, brushing softly. Our noses lightly grazed. Our lips, so soft, met. We kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

    I massaged her back. She ran her nails down mine. I gasped. She bent over. She sucked one nipple while pinching the other. I moaned. She switched. I moaned more.

    She took to one knee. Her hand ran down my thigh, against my mons, and finally, after I slightly parted my legs, a single finger found and stroked just above my clit. My breathing rocked with my body. I softly brushed my hands against her hair.

    I felt it building. And building. And building.

    “Please may I come.” I said it low, a whisper, the lightest of pleas.

    “Please, please may I come.” Louder. Begging. A need.

    “Yes.”

    “Thank you.” My abdomen contracted. I struggled to breathe. My hands flexed. It ripped through me.

    “Cum.” Her Daddy had been watching. Her Daddy gave the command. She obeyed. Her body and her breathing shuddered. We leaned on and into each other.

    Our breathing returned, we found ourselves hugging again. It was time to go.

    “You are intoxicating,” I told her before I had to drift, high and happy, on my way home.

  • Hold On

    From my experience at Dirty Things…

    He told me to go tie myself up. I scurried off, happy to have the practice, and wanting to try something new.

    I used my gifted red rope, along with a length of swapped black rope, for my chest harness. I used my gifted raw hemp for the hip harness (which included a crotch line for extra fun). I cinched to the hip piece and looped around my legs as I had done before. I added all the lifting lines before I began my ascent, just as I had practiced.

    But next was where things changed. I added a fourth lifting line to a new point, the one he had suggested some time ago. I lifted myself, lowered my chest, and floated above the world, my body weight resting solely on my hips. My arms could almost graze the floor.

    I lifted my chest back up, re-secured the line, and lowered a leg. I discarded the long chest rope and switched it out with a shorter from the leg on the ground. I moved the new chest rope to the side, lifted myself once more, and floated sideways. I drifted, sunk into this new feeling.

    I again resettled my leg and moved the chest line. Securing the rope to the back of the harness, I floated half sideways, half face down. I absorbed this new position, and its different set of strains.

    Feeling the time had come to stop, I lowered myself down, sat, and coiled my ropes. I wondered if I could, somehow, perform the transitions without lowering my leg. I promised myself I would practice this new sequence again, soon.

    My things packed away, and the night nearing at its end, I found him unraveling his tie. He asked if I was ready. I informed him we had no time, that the night had left us. That was, unless he wanted to do something “fast and furious”. He smiled at the comment. He went to the organizers to ask a question.

    I sat and lounged and talked, letting myself wind down. He came back and spoke to another. He stood behind me. And then his rope was around me.

    With one quick cinch, and my instant inhale of breath, I understood what was about to happen. I quickly flung my glasses away, caught by another who held them til the end. He cinched my chest again, and again, and again. He pressed into my body with his boot, first at my back, then on my chest. He forced my torso down onto my crossed legs. He then pushed my chest down to the ground. He grabbed my leg and wrapped the rope around it thrice. He pulled tight and cinch my leg to my chest.

    All the while, whenever his body came close to mine, I leaned into him. I rubbed my cheek, my shoulder, my hand onto any part of him that was near me. And he caressed me with his hand, his hair, and his rope.

    With my body secured, he held me, brushed my face, and said, “We don’t have time for me to ease this in, so I’m going to push it.” He counted 1, 2, 3. He struck my sternum, a warm glow now living in my chest. “Hold on to that for a while.” And he held me.

    After a moment, he began unwinding the ropes. Even with the strands flowing off my body, I felt the glow still in my chest. Even as we sat, cuddling, happy to be with one another, if only for a moment, I felt it. On the drive home. As I slipped into bed. As I write this, I still feel it.

    It is caring, affection, friendship, connection. I hold on to who I am, who we are, all that has happened before, and all that is yet to be.

  • Columbus

    ~erotica~

    I really needed to pee. Like really. Like dancing outside the bathroom door, holding my crotch, needed to pee. And for some fucking reason, he was taking a shower at 1am. 1am! Who the fuck showers at 1am?

    He didn’t hear me knock over the running water, so I had a decision to make. I weighed disturbing him and having an awkward situation over pissing my boxers outside the bathroom. I figured he’d understand if only for not forfeiting our security deposit.

    “I’m sorry Columbus, but I have to pee.” The room was filled with steam, a normal occurrence for the both of us. Hot showers, living in the apartment together, and his sister were probably the only things we had in common.

    I raced to the toilet and gratefully relieved myself. I could barely make out his figure in the shower as I finished. It wasn’t until I stood that the steam parted, he turned around, saw me, and opened the shower door.

    Even through the haze, I saw how delicious his physique was. Columbus was a firefighter, and only spent half his time in our apartment. He trained every day he was here, running on the treadmill for hours at a time. The weights in the living room were his too. I knew he was fit, but holy shit… Milk chocolate skin, dark brown eyes, an eight pack, strong arms, stronger legs. Who was this man living in my home? How had I not seen this Adonis under my roof?

    Oh yeah, he was my best friend’s brother. I just never thought to, well, look. We were roommates out of convenience, orchestrated by his sister to both our and her benefit, and the arrangement went well. We barely saw each other, and when we did it was cordial but noncommittal.

    However, standing in the bathroom, his naked body before me, wet and glistening, the last thing on my mind were polite gestures.

    As I took in the wonderment of his body, I then realized he was sizing me up too. I had needed to go so badly, it didn’t occur to me that Columbus had never seen me in such a state of undress. I wore the aforementioned boxers, which were short and hugged my ass just right. I also wore a tank top, gray, body hugging, no bra. I then realized my nipples were hard and most likely visibly erect to him.

    Something else was also becoming erect.

    We stood there looking at each other for about thirty seconds before I turned to walk out. I wanted to fuck him. I really wanted to fuck him. Fuck, I wanted to fuck my best friend’s brother.

    Holy shit, I needed to leave. As I turned away, I felt his hand grip onto my wrist. I stopped in my tracks. Turning back, I saw the look on his face, the wanting in his eyes. I saw him lick his lips, those full lips which I now imagined on mine.

    “Shit.” My hands found his face as I rushed into his arms for a kiss. My sleep clothes moistened with the water against his body. His hands found the small of my back and my ass.

    He pulled me into the shower. The warm water only intensified the heat between us. He pulled off my now incredibly wet clothes. He pushed me against the wall. He bit my neck. He pulled my hair. He slid his hand in between my legs. He lightly bit one nipple; he sucked the other. I started moaning.

    “Shit.” I lifted a leg and wrapped it around his hip. He lifted my body against the shower wall. He pounded his hand into me, harder, deeper.

    “Shit.” I got closer, closer to it, that intense moment when endorphins raced through my body, ripped my abdomen in half, and I would scream not only obscenities, but his name. As I got closer, my breathing increased, but so did his. Normally I’d have my eyes closed, but his stare was fixed on me and I didn’t want to let it go.

    “May I…” He inserted another finger. I gasped.

    “May you what?”

    “May I cum for you?” A wide smile spread across his face. Did he know about orgasm control? Did he know what I did with the people I brought home and quickly ushered into my room? Did he know about me?

    “Hmm…” Oh no, even if he didn’t know, he was tormenting me. He may or may not be in the scene, but he already had a feel for topping.

    “Please, please let me cum for you. Please Columbus.” His thumb sped up its motion on my clit.

    “Cum my little slut.” I finally closed my eyes, gripped my legs tight around his hips, and rode his hand hard. I screamed loudly, “Thank you, Columbus. Oh, fuck, thank you. Shit. Oh God. Oh God. Columbus.” Since we were in the shower, I don’t know if he noticed me squirt.

    After my orgasm, he slowly lowered me down. He stood six foot even; I looked up into his eyes from six inches down.

    “My room or yours?” His question was simple, yet full of subtext. I lightly caressed his quite erect cock.

    “Mine.” Yes, he would soon learn all the fun things I liked to do, and loved to have done to me. Yes, he would fuck me, but did he know he would also beat me, tie me up, slap and punch me? Did he know what he was getting into?

    Oh well, his dick was hard, I was horny, and it was only 1am.

  • Sideways

    It wasn’t that we didn’t love the scene that was going to happen, but in the moment, it was that we both needed it.

    Both Murphy and I were exhausted. We’d barely gotten any sleep between the Bomb-iversary and leaving for FetFest. While Dov had passed out in my back seat during the ride, Murphy and I had chatted for all the hours down to camp. He had wanted to make sure I stayed awake. I had appreciated the company. We had talked about this and that, but we’d also decided we would have a scene that evening.

    Neither of us got a nap before night fell. There were sprinted hugs to give, gifts to handout, takedown practice to administer, people to meet, an opening ceremony, a Waffle House run, and random rope-y fun-ness to be had.

    So, when I came up to the Rope Village, because again I was dumb and didn’t get myself in a cabin by with my friends, Murphy and I both needed a jolt. For him, it was something to kick start his event, to help him find a passionate spark to the weekend.

    For me, it was a grounding, a coming back. I had already pushed through fatigue, an emotional struggle through my walk at the Labyrinth, and Green Eyes whispering horrible notions in my ear. I needed comfort, centering, the love I share with my family of friends.

    So Murphy and I were about to go to the dungeon to make ourselves right when fate tempted us. We peaked our heads into Cabin One and found EmberOfSerenity, Gray, And Janice all naked on a bed and inviting us in. The struggle, the shear will to pull ourselves away from them was excruciating. But we did, myself securing a rain check for cuddles later in the event.

    During our walk to the play space, Murphy spoke on how the feel of Fet differed from Rope Camp. He could already sense it would be closer to fireworks (fits, starts, pops, flashes of play and fun), as opposed to Rope Camp (a long, smouldering extensive burn). I thought this could be good for him, a challenge to adapt to his feeling yet still make this event his own.

    Taking our place under a wench, Murphy had me remove a little bit of clothing, but basically kept my school girl outfit in tact. I’d worn it because I knew he loved this particular look.

    He tied a chest harness on me, our connection immediate and strong. He attached me, for the first time, to the hard point on my side. He lifted my left leg and worked on securing it to his ring. But I faltered. I didn’t keep my balance. He caught me, brought me back up, and righted my stance.

    I giggled even as I almost went topsy turvy towards the floor. Murphy got me standing and encouraged me to be strong in my right leg, to find my center. I held the position until he lifted my right leg and had me floating sideways.

    My giggling and smiling continued. He brushed his hand on my cheek, then punched my chest. I floated counterclockwise. After a full rotation, he again punched me, this time in the other direction. I drifted; I relaxed; I flew. My smile would not go away.

    Slowly he lowered the wench until I softly landed on the blue mat. He untied me; we hugged; I felt like me again.

  • Recharging

    Once again my friend Graydancer wrote something that got me thinking; I know, shocking. Read his entry, then read my thoughts which came to mind when I pondered “What recharges me?”.

    – When I’m driving, alone, often on my way to see friends, but occasionally on my way to work, I’ll just sing. I’ll sing loudly and proudly, and probably badly, but I let go. For the good songs, I start car dancing, rocking my shoulders and hips back & forth. Usually I’ll end up speeding, dashing through traffic with cat-like skill and precision (yes, I know, not the best adult behavior). Always, always, I smile throughout.

    – When there is no one in the house, and I feel relaxed and at ease, I wash my toys, put on my masturbation playlist (what, doesn’t everyone have one?), and I don’t just masturbate, I fuck myself. Best of all, I let myself scream.

    When I’m coming, I love to scream, usually the name of the person helping to facilitate my fun. When I’m alone, though, I call out Daddy along with a multiple curse words or deities. Sometimes I entertain the idea of audio recording myself during my fun, but I never have. That time is mine and no one else’s (well, one other person, but I haven’t met him yet).

    – My sleeping buddy is soft, squishy, and oh so hug-able. At night, when I’m naked and under my covers, I press him against my chest, run my face on his fur, and drift off to sleep, Cabin Shell watching over me.

    – This blog is a testament to my love of writing. However, there are words that I put on paper that you will never see. I carry a small brown journal where I jot down thoughts, ideas, worrying questions, wondrous dreams, and any other fucking thing I please.

    One night recently I finished my blog early and still found myself writing before bed, this time in my journal. Beyond processing, it is my special pages, my mind on paper, expelling all the swirly words that need to not be in my head anymore.

    – After I finish my run or my yoga DVD, I always feel better than when I started. My exercise is not a New Year’s resolution, but more a means to an end. If I work out, my rigging improves. If I work out, I like the way my body looks more. If I work out, the endorphins get me high. If I work out, I like me more.

    Once, I processed some emotions while on the treadmill, broke down crying while I jogged, and quieted myself before either of the roommates saw. I pushed through not only the pain in my legs and chest, but also the pain in my heart. Feeling it thump in my torso, breathing heavy, exhaustion at my heels, I am over run by the accomplishment of getting my ass off the couch, out of bed, or just up and doing something.

    – Happy Hour, lunch at the mall, or just chilling in their homes, being with my friends is sometimes just the salve I need to heal my loneliness, boredom, despair or doldrums. It’s not the alcohol, or the cute baby (though my niece is super awesome), but the time I get to spend with my chosen family.

    The long meandering conversations, the catching up, the highs, the lows, the new, the old. It’s telling my kinky stories or hearing about their annoyances at work. It’s about introducing new names into their lexicon when it comes to those I care about or about learning what new passion invigorates them. It’s about meeting new people and cherishing all those who are already there. Above all others, being with my friends, whether for four days or four hours, renews and recharges me.

    So, what recharges you?

  • Care

    I spent most of today in a hospital. I came to the need of a friend, sat by their side through the slowest waiting room ever, many doctors, many nurses, more waiting, and lots of questions. In the end, my friend was discharged with no new answers but much less pain.

    It is a cliche to say that people have negative feelings around hospitals. But, for me, the first half of my life was spent in hospitals. My mother is a medical secretary. I’ve heard stories of me falling asleep under her desk, waiting for her to get off work. From sixth to eighth grade, I walked from my school to the hospital and waited in the lobby for her til 5:30pm. I did my homework, listened to my Walkman, purchased snacks in the cafe, candy from the gift shop, sometimes wrote, and often napped. I had a couch that almost everyday was my couch. That hospital was warm and inviting to me, a comfort.

    That feeling began to change my freshman year of high school. Uncles died in a hospital. I visited him only once. By then he had shrunk, withered to almost nothing, just skin and bones. He died at about age 90. Our visit with him, my only visit with him in the hospital, was his last before his passing.

    Granddaddy was next. We called 9-1-1 after he had an apparent stroke in our home. It took two or three men to get him down the stairs and out the front door. We waited in the emergency room for half the night until he was admitted and my mother took us home. He survived that ordeal but his life was forever altered.

    He was no longer the big, strong, imposing man who had picked me up from elementary school, carried me in his arms down the hill for my birthday party, and occasionally squeezed my knee. His first night back at home both my mother and I had to clean him up after he soiled himself. He died my senior year of high school, while I was on spring break in Puerto Rico. His funeral was the day I came back. I am still so very thankful my mother saved me from that experience.

    Aunties passed my junior year in college. She too wasted away until no one could deny she needed to go to the hospital. And, once again, my visit with her was one of her last.

    And then there was Ella.

    I don’t fear hospitals. It’s just I haven’t been there for happy moments since my childhood. I didn’t attend my niece’s birth. And, save new life, are there any other happy reasons to go to the hospital?

    When someone is sick, when you are tasked to care for them, everything in your life is brought into perspective. So many things seem insignificant, little, petty. Every move, every thought, is full of awkward anxiety. Remembering everything I wanted to do today, and figuring out when I could do it later on in the week. Wondering how long the ordeal would last. How bad it would get. Hoping it would get no worse.

    When I drop into the mindset of caregiver, I often drown out most of my thoughts or any inclinations for myself. I skipped breakfast and didn’t eat lunch today til 2pm because I worried about leaving my friend’s side. I snuck in a work email while they slept only because I was a day late in responding. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I kept myself awake just in case. I didn’t dare pull out my book until they informed us of the impending discharge.

    And, just now, I got a phone call. In my mind, all I could think was, “Please may it not be from X. Please may they still be okay.”

    I worry. SkinnyBitch tells me I worry too much and should stop. If I knew how, I would.

    For now, distraction. Yoga, shower, playing with the dog, and Happy Hour. However I’ll have my cell phone always by my side, hoping it doesn’t ring, but still there just in case.