Blech and blue
Enough of this. Enough, enough, enough. Blahs, begone, I will have no more of thee.
Yeah, right. Like they listen.
Not the best of weekends. Poor John was stressed out over work issues, and he was so thrown off his game that he lost his keys. He has spares, so it could have been worse, but John, like me, needs control and order in his life and when he loses things, it makes him feel out of control and very upset. I get this, so I did my best to soothe him. At least we didn’t get in a fight, but he was tense and snappish.
I swore I wasn’t going to do this. I swore up and down and sideways… looks like I’m a liar. But I can’t help it. Every time I log on, there it is. Every time I go to FetLife, it’s all over the feed, all over the forums. Every time I look at the blog roll, someone is blogging about it. The Boardwalk Badness Weekend party in Atlantic City next weekend. The Party of the Year. The one with people coming from the UK, Ireland and all over this country. The one nearly all my friends are attending.
I WANNA BE THERE SO BADLY, I COULD FUCKING CROAK!!!!
There, I said it.
I know what some of you are thinking. “Well, you could have gone too, why didn’t you?” (And others, no doubt, are thinking, “Oh, STFU already,” but sorry, I’m on a roll now.) Sure, I could have gone, for a lot of money. Which I don’t have. Granted, John has it. However, he already pays for one big party weekend per year, and I can’t bring myself to ask him for another, considering that these spanking parties are my thing and not really his. Last year, we did go to FMS as well as SL, so this year didn’t feel like the right time to ask him for two parties again.
Why do I want to go so badly? I’m not lacking for spankings these days — I have quantity AND quality with New Guy and I couldn’t be happier in that area. But I miss parties. I miss the crowds, the excitement. I want to see the friends I never get to see, laugh and hug and brat and have a nonstop whirlwind of socializing. I want to be “a part of.” Reading all the pre-party buzz (then the party buzz and the post-party buzz) kicks in those old dusty tapes, that horrible old feeling of being on the outside with my nose pressed against the glass, looking at the fun going on inside. Stupid, I know. Childish.
People have been writing to me, asking if I’m going. At least I know I’ll be missed by some, and that’s nice. But oh damn, I feel like I’m missing so much. Don’t worry… there won’t be a repeat performance of this when the FMS and Texas All-State parties roll around. I don’t feel the same way about them… BBW seems like the place to be. On Thursday, 175 people are arriving, and the damn thing doesn’t even officially start until Friday, so I can only imagine what the final count will be.
Focus on something else, Erica. Unfortunately, my book is at a standstill, because I still don’t have a cover photo. I’m not completely thrilled with the shots I got last week, and I’m meeting with another photographer. But that won’t be until this Friday. And I’ve been feeling weird about the book itself, wondering just what I’ve gotten myself into. Who wants to read about my life, anyway? Aagggh! I can’t take that seriously… it’s just nerves. And a lot of dredged-up memories. This weekend, I found myself relating an old memory to John, one from when I was about nine years old, and then there I was, tearing up at the dinner table. “What’s wrong with me?” I asked him. “You’ve got a lot of old stuff coming up,” he said. I guess I do.
I do have a couple of fun things to look forward to, but in this whacko mood I’m in, I’m afraid to talk about them. I feel like if I want them too much, they’ll be taken away.
I need to get to the gym; perhaps that will help. And in the meantime, looks like it’s time to up the meds: