Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

Archive for the category “blah”

Get your ho-hos here? Probably not.

It’s that time of year again, kids. The holidays. Where I get melancholy and grumpy. (Or more so than usual.) This year, for various reasons, seems particularly sucky. Not just for me, but for so many others. I’m not even going to mention the people who have been shot to death, or burned out of their homes. (OK, I just mentioned them. I suck.) I’m thinking about the average day-to-day folks just struggling to keep their heads above water and keep treading uphill.

Today on Twitter, a trending hashtag is #InternationalMensDay. Which grates on my nerves right off the bat, because it’s missing an apostrophe and I hate that Twitter doesn’t allow punctuation in hashtags. But never mind. Of course, there is all sorts of backlash to it, sneering about how “every day is men’s day,” and then a lot of counter-argument about how victimized men are and no one talks about it. But of course, then we’ll have #InternationalWomensDay and the same reactions will occur in reverse.

These days, it seems it sucks to be just about anyone.

Let’s review, shall we?

It sucks to be a man, because of the whole #MeToo thing and how any man can be ruined by an accusation. Because they’re supposed to be strong all the time and aren’t allowed to have any human weaknesses. Because they’re damned if they do and damned if they don’t a lot of the time. Because they’re either too macho or *gasp* “too sensitive.” And so on.

It sucks to be a woman, because unequal pay/sexual harassment and assault/being considered the weaker sex/etc./etc./etc. Because we’re responsible for birth control and yet old white men are trying to rule our bodies. Because we’re supposed to stay beautiful, fit, firm, and sexy, or else we’re rejected. And so on.

It sucks to be a person of color because racists hate you.

It sucks to be a Jew because antisemitic people hate you.

It sucks to be LGBTQ because homophobes and narrow-minded people hate you.

It sucks to be a millennial, because older people sneer at you and call you a whiny avocado toast eater.

It sucks to be older, because society basically rejects you as being past your prime and out of touch.

It sucks to be conservative, because the “tree-hugging snowflakes” hate you.

It sucks to be liberal, because the “MAGA-hat-wearing, gun-toting ‘Muricans'” hate you.

It sucks to be kinky, because vanilla people judge you.

It sucks to be vanilla, because kinky people think you’re boring.

It sucks to be an extrovert, because you need people all the time and people will ultimately fail you in one way or another.

It sucks to be an introvert, because when you finally really do need someone, there’s no one there.

It sucks to have family, because they drive you crazy.

It sucks to be alone, because you envy people who have family, even though you know that those families most likely drive them crazy.

Have I missed anything? I’m sure I have. I’m sure this list is infinite.

Now is the time to trot out all the adages, the homilies, the positives, the feel-good statements, right? Meh. I think the best advice I’ve gotten all year was this, from my delightfully acerbic and possibly kinky chiropractor, of all people:

“Life sucks. Learn to embrace the suckage.”

I’m trying, but sometimes I get so damn tired. And frustrated. And sad. And feeling like every damn step I take up, I take two back. And every time I think I’ve found people to trust and believe in, I’m proven wrong. Because no matter who you are, someone hates you. For whatever stupid reason.

For the most part, I like to think I’m a good judge of character. But this year, I have made such egregious errors, I’m questioning myself. And wondering if I can trust anyone.

As for all these #InternationalSoandSoDays on Twitter — since it basically sucks to be everyone in one way or another, and everyone is struggling to rise above the morass and be heard, can’t we just have an #InternationalEveryoneDay and be done with it??

I’m going back to work.

grumpycat5

Rainy Friday

My favorite kind of day — gray, rainy, quiet. No one is outside, everyone’s windows are closed; all I hear is the sound of raindrops. I’m in comfy sweats with Beethoven playing on the stereo (yes, I like classical music). Because John is working late and I have Spanking Court tomorrow, I won’t be going to his house this evening. I will miss him, but part of me is relieved that I won’t need to drive 30+ miles in Friday traffic plus rain. Southern Californians do not know how to drive in rain; they either crawl along at half the speed limit, or they tear past you and send mini-tsunamis splashing onto your windshield.

John and I hadn’t talked for a couple of nights, so last night we played catch-up. Or rather, he did. He’d had a jam-packed week; lots of stuff at work (including being transferred to another department, which he thinks will be a very good thing), plus contact with a new domme, so he was all excited about that. I said little, just interjecting “uh huh,” and “oh, good” and so forth where appropriate.

Then he said, “So what about you? How are you doing? What’s new with your friends?” etc… My answers were monosyllabic: “OK.” “Dunno.” “I guess.” My voice sounded half-dead in my ears. Then John said, “Life is kind of flat for you right now, isn’t it.”

He knows. Flatlining. Gray. Blah. Sad. The specific reasons don’t matter; they just are. No work. Lackluster book sales. Upcoming holidays (and we know how much Erica loves the holidays). My mother just turned 90. For most, that would be a milestone worth a celebration, but for her, that’s just another one of life’s cruelties. Worries over people and things I can’t control. Blah, blah, blah.

I know I have a wonderful man, and a wonderful top. I know I could be homeless, penniless, whatever-less. I AM grateful for what I have. But depression defies this logic. Like I said, it just is.

Just knowing that John totally got it broke through the thick fog and tears started pouring. It’s weird, how I cry when I’m down. It’s an expressionless crying — no sobbing, no sounds, just a steady outpouring from my eyes, like I have mini-faucets behind each one and they’re stuck in the on position.

Bless his heart, he tried to fix me. Started suggesting all sorts of things I could do. It’s one of those guy things, I guess — I appreciate his caring. He did make one very valid point — I need some fun. Something, some sort of adventure, to look forward to. Something for balance.

So. How to achieve balance. Not sure. But it’s something to think about. Find some fun, something that will inject some joy and anticipation, bring the color back. We’re not talking anything monumental here, folks. Remember, we’re talking about Ms. Routine who has to mentally prepare for days in the case of a change in her schedule.

Speaking of schedule changes, ST can’t make it Monday, so he is coming over on Tuesday instead. Wow. Now you know how much I like him, folks. 

Anyone watch The Big Bang Theory? I swear, in some ways, I think Sheldon Cooper is a long-lost (and fictional) brother. Not because of his genius level or his asexuality (I am no nuclear physicist, and I love physical intimacy), but his need for sameness and routines (and his anxiety when they are disrupted). They’ve never established exactly what it is with him; many think it’s Asperger’s, or OCD, or a combination of both. I love one of his catchlines: “I’m not crazy. My mother had me tested.”

Enough with this blathering. I got Chrossed today, so that’s good (and congratulations to everyone else who did also). I’m going to get a pedicure — it’s hard to feel down with sparkly red toenails. And I do have SC tomorrow; a fun final scene is planned. And hopefully, my as-yet-unseen new next-door neighbor will move in sometime this weekend while I’m gone, so I will be spared the hours of racket. Because, as you know, outside noises distress me as well.

Sometimes, it’s a wonder I don’t spontaneously combust.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

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