Ups and downs
Hard to believe the Shadow Lane party was just a week ago. It feels so much longer than that.
Around midweek last week, I started feeling small waves of post-party drop in between the bouts of writing, commenting, laughing and feeling lingering euphoria over all the fun memories. I shook the blues off Wednesday and then again Thursday. Little things were bothering me, but I chalked them up to the usual post-party letdown and refused to take them seriously.
Friday, I was happy that my party blog got “Chross’d.” But then later, the drop returned, and the inevitable crash I’d been fending off hit late Friday night. J had fallen asleep on the couch and awoke to the sound of my sniffling beside him. Stupid.
It didn’t help that yesterday we had to drive to see my mom and stepdad. Note to self: Do NOT plan anything depressing on the weekend following a wonderful spanking party. What usually feels unpleasant to me felt particularly unbearable yesterday. It takes about an hour-and-a-half to get to my folks’ place from J’s, but yesterday afternoon there was a surprising dearth of traffic and we got there in an hour-and-a-quarter. I told J, let’s sit in the car and talk for a few minutes; I don’t want to go in early. I know, I’m awful! (sigh)
Anyway, the visit was the usual. My mother’s child-like joy to see me wrung my heart. Both she and my stepdad looked feeble and doddering and I was struck once again with the cruelty of life that goes on much longer in quantity than it does in quality. We went to dinner and then back to their place, which was stuffy and hot and the walls were closing in on me, so we dashed out of there at 9:00. The visit had only been 3 1/2 hours, but I couldn’t help it. I’d run out of things to say and I couldn’t look at either one of them any longer. My mother had asked for my address and phone number, so she could give them to her mother. Uhhhhh… Mom? Your mother passed away in 1981. “Really? She did? That long ago?” I can’t stand it. I just can’t.
When we got home, I felt profound fatigue and all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball in bed and go to sleep for about 12 hours. Fortunately, J knew what I needed better than I did. We were watching 48 Hours; the alleged murderers of four young girls had been interrogated for hours and hours by the police until they cracked and confessed, and then later recanted the confession. After the show, J took me by the hand and escorted me into the bedroom, saying he had some questions to ask me. “Nooooooooo,” I groaned, knowing what was coming. “I’m too tired.”
Thank goodness, he didn’t listen.
We had an “interrogation” scene with the hairbrush. He kept trying to get me to confess to something or another (made up, of course), but I was too stubborn to do so. After a while, I guess he realized this couldn’t go on forever, so he said we’d have to continue the interrogation with “a deeper probe.” (blushing) Sorry if this is TMI, but I guess I really, really needed some wild sexual release, to feel attractive and wanted and exciting. I screamed and hollered the walls down.
Today I felt better, but tonight, back home, I’m feeling sad again. Oh, screw it. It is what it is. I’m reading notes and comments from others who are also going through post-party withdrawal, so this is nothing freakish. And it will pass. Soon, my interview with Richard will be up on his site; that will make me smile.
My job is to not think too much. It’s not good for me when I’m feeling fragile.