Okay, this is SO wrong

We all have our bodily reactions to excess stress, yes? Especially these days. Some people get migraines. Some people get muscle spasms.

I get hives. Combination of stress and heat, so I get them in summer.

Not badly, and not a whole lot of them. Just random itchy blotches. They don’t blister, they don’t scab, they just rise, get progressively redder, and then after a couple of days of Calamine lotion and Zyrtec, they recede. But while they are here, they itch like a son of a bitch.

Most often, I get them on my lower legs.

Guess where I got a couple of them this time?

Yup.

So unfair! This is not the kind of discomfort I want on my butt, goddammit!

I guess there are worse kinds of butt itch. Perhaps I should count my blessings. *grumble*

Drop is real

This morning, I watched Jillian Keenan’s latest video about Spanko Drop, something that many of us can relate to. It’s the sucky side of what we do, the what-goes-up-must-come-down reality of it. I think she detailed it well and covered all the salient points. We all need to know what this is, that we’re normal, and that we’re not alone.

And that it will pass. I am reminding myself of that right now, actually.

Last week I got to play. It was intense and lovely and stimulating and exciting. C was sweet and did all the right things, checking in with me in the days that followed. I wish more tops understood about how some of us need those check-ins. Then again, we bottoms need to make that need known more, it seems. We just expect that the top knows. Not always the case.

My stress levels have been off the charts recently for various reasons. After my scene last week, I think my body finally rebelled, everything surfaced, and my legs erupted in hives. I get these periodically, stress hives, and there’s nothing I can do about them except take Zyrtec, douse them with calamine lotion, Benadryl cream, and aloe vera, and wait them out, willing myself not to scratch them and trying not to fixate on how ugly they are. Then I went to my chiropractor with my right hip hurting and he said those muscles were in spasm. Oh, goody. So I slogged through the rest of the week itching and hurting and struggling to keep up with work and do what needed to be done.

Now I feel a little better physically… but my mood is blech. And I’m recognizing it as drop. “Yeah, but you got to play!” I hear people saying. I did. But I don’t know when I will again. I’m feeling so out of the loop with the community I once called home. I’m missing friends I once had. Still dealing with Covid isolation and struggling to figure out what’s okay and what isn’t. I don’t want to live in the past. I want to forge ahead and make new memories, have more joys. And have them more frequently.

So yeah, I guess I’m droppy today. Which is totally normal. Knowing that makes it much more acceptable. I am grateful I have a name to put to these feelings, a very real physiological and emotional reason for them. It’s the adult version of post-birthday crash. Or post holidays, or whatever thrilled us and wound us up as kids.

Here’s to self-care. Here’s to compassion and empathy for people dealing with this. And here’s to knowing that we are okay.

Strange days indeed…

Most peculiar, Mama.

(NO GOOGLING — quick, what song is that a line from?)

Well now. Just touching base, kids. Because things are a wee bit nuts right now.

I work at home already, so this is not impacting my work. No gym for me, though, of course, because gyms, among many other places here in Los Angeles County, are closed until at least April. There is a treadmill in my apartment building and I have a few free weights, so I will do my best to stay fit and release stress during this time.

I don’t even want to think about the stock market and people’s investments.

The markets look like war zones. I currently have enough food for this week and next, and I have four rolls of toilet paper. I’m in reasonably decent shape, but the uncertainty of not knowing how and where I’ll get things I need is daunting.

My beloved has a heart condition. He is squarely in the high-risk category. The good news is, he works in a building by himself and has very little contact with others. But I’m still worried to death about him.

I will refrain from comment as to how this pandemic is being handled here in the U.S. I’m just grateful my state has an efficient and proactive governor. Because, otherwise, I am freaking terrified.

Covid-19 is affecting the spanking/kink scene. Shoots and sessions are being canceled. Travel is curtailed. And next month’s Boardwalk Badness national party in Atlantic City has been canceled. If this continues, then the two Texas parties in May and June, Lone Star and TASSP, will likely be canceled as well. This is a huge hardship on people who make their living with these events and with sessions, shoots, etc.

I may end up staying home on weekends. Because even if I go to John’s, we can’t go anywhere. And if I’m going to be stuck home, I’d feel more comfortable in my own home. At least here I can work.

I am playing music all day, and I will not listen to the news. I’m trying to keep social media to a minimum. Because the fear-mongering and doom and gloom and anger are off the charts, and it’s bad for our psyches to be immersed in this every damn minute.

Here’s the really weird, stupid part. Through all this, with all the worry and fear, I’ve kept it together. I’ve remained calm. But then, out of left field today, this bit of news broke me. I have been weeping uncontrollably ever since. I guess I just needed one more last bit of sadness to tip me over… but I feel ridiculous about it. Figures I’d be losing it over a TV star when everything feels like it’s falling apart around me. But, you know… my dad worked with him. 😦 I just watched him last night, a really old clip of him singing “All of Me” to a swooning teenage girl from the Carol Burnett audience. It was priceless. I wonder where she is now — what a memory for her.

Please, everyone. Take good care. Be vigilant. Breathe deep. And cling on to your loved ones.

Oh, and read this. Follow it as best you can, within your own life’s parameters. Good luck and good health to all of us.

ADDENDUM: The Lone Star party in Houston has been postponed until November.

An addendum to yesterday’s post

So, yesterday’s post was all about stress and anxiety and frustration. But I will have you know that at this moment, I currently have:

1. A jar of peanut butter in the fridge with about one spoonful left.
2. Two cartons of ice creams in the freezer with roughly one serving each left.
3. A box of See’s candy (my favorite chocolate) with four pieces left.

What’s the big deal, you ask? Remember… for years, I was a compulsive stress eater. In days of yore, I would have inhaled all three of those items in short order, and probably a box of cereal and who the hell knows what else to boot.

But now, I haven’t touched them, and I’m not going to, until I decide I want them. So yay me!

I think I deserve a reward, dammit. 😛

Someone needs to vent…

So look out! (warning: fluent cussing to follow)

Before I get into this, I should say I am not sick. I’m not depressed. John is well. My apartment is fine and I have plenty of work. I still have the lovely memories of the party from a couple of weeks ago. So at this moment in time, I am all right.

I’m just overwhelmed with a feeling of unease and powerlessness, and like the whole damn world around me is in free-fall. We have a global pandemic that’s spreading every day. The stock market is crashing. People are freaking out and social media is a disaster area. The anger is off the charts. I feel like I’m not going to get through 2020 without losing my mind. And while I am well, I have several friends who are in various stages of illness and despair, and there’s not a damn thing I can do for them.

Finally, being a recluse and a misanthrope is going to be a huge plus. I’m not scared that I’m going to get COVID-19. I live alone, I work alone. I hate travel. I hate large crowds, for the most part. And I’m healthy with a strong immune system. However… John has a heart condition. And his immune system is compromised. And this is not the fucking flu.

The stock market plummeting on a daily basis scares the bejesus out of me. People hoarding stuff and acting crazy scare me. My finances worry me, especially since I just spent the last of my emergency cash on a hefty car repair. My computer is old AF, so are my TVs. My car is twelve years old. But I can’t afford to replace anything.

So what do I want to do in the midst of all this insanity? I want to play. I want to escape and forget all this crap for a while. I want an endorphin rush and a stress release. And I’m fucking frustrated with that situation as well.

This is party season — there’s a huge national spanking party next month, then in May, and then in June. Personally? I think going to airports and being among mass throngs of people from all over is insane right now, so I’m quite worried about all my friends going to these things, even though I envy them as well. I’m so very grateful we managed to get to our own party before this all blew up. But the local situation continues to suck, and sometimes it gets damn tiresome.

In particular, I am frustrated with the tops on Alt.com. Yeah, lots of them look at me. I can tell who’s looking at my profile, and it’s often the same guys over and over. But they don’t contact me, and I can’t contact them, because I’m not a paying member. What’s up with that? About once a week, I see that the man who ended things last November still looks at my profile. Why??? Every time I see that he’s looked at me, I want to write to him and say, “FFS, come on over and look at me up close and personal, why don’t you?” Argh. But I don’t. I say nothing. Because if he wanted to be in touch, he would be. Still, I really can’t comprehend why he’s still checking me out. What a useless exercise that is if you don’t follow up with anything.

Another one has been dancing around me for months. We met once for coffee and things went splendidly, but then the holidays happened, he had a family emergency and he went back East for a few months. I waited patiently, and now he’s back… and he’s dancing around me again. Writing brief emails, dropping hints, asking questions, commenting how he saw one of my clips… but not suggesting a concrete get-together. Dude! Life is short and neither one of us is getting any younger here. If we’re all gonna die, I want to go with a sore butt and a big smile on my face. Stop tiptoeing… if you want to play, then fucking tell me you want to play and tell me when!

And yet another one texts me every now and then and says let’s reconnect. I enthusiastically agree and say just tell me when. And then he disappears again until the next time.

I wish they’d freaking man up, turn my ass up and spank the hell out of me already, dammit!

(I know. I sound so fucking submissive. I’d laugh at that if I didn’t feel like screaming.)

But then I calm down, I work out, I sigh, and I pick up my work again. And hope for things to get better. But I can’t help feeling they’re going to get a whole lot worse first.

One of my old bosses, whenever people complained about stuff, had the weirdest saying: “Yeah, well, people in hell want lemonade.” I never quite understood what that meant. But I suppose the kinky version of that is “People in hell want spanking.” Because right now, besides the basics of shelter and food and good health, that’s what I want most.

I. Am. Scared. I know why people drink. I know why people smoke. I know why people do geographics. Escape. Of course, there is no escape, not really. There is postponement, though. There is temporary distraction. And sometimes, that sounds pretty damn sublime.

(sigh) Rant over. I will get back to work now.

Friends — be safe. Be careful. And if you have a chance to have some fun, do it. Because we simply don’t know what the fuck is going to happen.

Size DOES matter

As in the size of riding crops! (WTF did you think I was talking about?)

Steve showed up at my door yesterday brandishing a crop I hadn’t seen before; he said he’d rediscovered it going through some of his stuff. The first thing I noticed was that the tip, while leather (there is no way I will allow a rubber-tipped crop; I’ve experienced that and don’t want to again), was very small and skinny, until the broader tip of our favorite. Uh oh. I’ve been around implements long enough to know that oftentimes, smaller means more painful, because it concentrates the sensation in smaller areas.

I was right.

Yesterday was intense anyway, for various reasons. I’m so damn stressed lately; things going on with John that I’d rather not go into (his work), plus all the anger and negativity everywhere over this @#$%ing election. Just the other day, I was called a “leftist Jew” on Twitter. I felt overwhelmed with tension and was fairly bursting with it when Steve arrived. We talked for a long time and I wept before he even touched me.

I also wept during our scene, and afterward. I guess I needed to.

But oh, that crop. I hate that thing! It’s nasty! I like sting, but this sting is different, since it’s so concentrated. It felt like I was being stung by multiple bees, again and again. I tried my best to keep still, to not squirm and writhe, but it was a challenge. Breathe, I thought. Settle. Accept. Take it in.

Feel. Just feel. Then you don’t have to think.

Afterward, I was drained and tired, so drowsy. All I wanted to do was curl up and sleep all afternoon. But I had to be all adult-y and stuff and work.

Someone suggested yesterday that I stay off all social media for the next two weeks. But I know I can’t do that. However, I no longer watch the news, or even any of the talk shows. I don’t want to hear about what’s going on. I have retreated into nostalgia — lately, I’ve been watching MeTV, AntennaTV and the Buzzr channel (old game shows). Although it’s pretty surreal to watch an 80s Johnny Carson show and hear him mention Trump. Some things never change…

Ugh. Must go work out. Must copy edit. And tonight’s reward, a new Law and Order: SVU episode. Last week it was pre-empted… for that fucking debate! 😛