Diagnoses

The past couple of weeks have been overwhelming, but I suppose positive in a way. Red and I have both been diagnosed. His diagnosis has been long-anticipated, as he's been ill for nearly two years now. Mine was quite unexpected. Both are life-long.

Red has been diagnosed with IBS. It took quite a while for our doctors to finally come to that conclusion, one, because IBS is a diagnosis reached through exclusion of all other possibilities, and two, because Red's IBS is so severe that the doctors had a hard time believing that it actually was IBS. I've of course heard of IBS before, and have known a few people who have it, but I've never known that it could be so debilitating. We've spent many an evening over the past few years in the emergency room, and have had many frightening moments when we feared that the symptoms he was having could actually kill him. This illness doesn't just make our sex/spanking life extremely difficult, it makes just living and functioning day-to-day difficult.

As for me, I've been diagnosed as bipolar. I can't say that I'm entirely surprised, as I've been in therapy on and off since I was about twelve-years-old. My psychiatrists have all kind of touched on the idea that I might be bipolar, but for whatever reason have all rejected it. However, no one has ever come to a diagnosis either. I spoke to a psychologist on Thursday after having a meltdown that morning. Red and I decided that I had to see someone immediately, and found someone to fit me in. She, after reviewing the forms I filled out and speaking to me for about an hour, told me that she thinks that I have the "mild" form of bipolar (meaning that I don't have psychotic breaks, just dramatic mood swings). I see the psychiatrist this afternoon to find out what kind of medication he wants to put me on.

I've kind of been feeling in limbo for the past few days. At first, it seemed like a relief to have a diagnosis, a reason for why I feel the way that I do. But then it sunk in that this is a life-long condition, and a thing to be dealt with. I wonder if I'll ever feel normal again. I am hoping that whatever treatment the doctor chooses will help me to be able to be the person who I perceive myself to be underneath all of my irrationalities and idiosyncrasies. On the other hand, I hate the idea that my ability to cope with and interact with the world around me will depend on a pill.

I also hope that I'll have some more fun stuff to post about soon. It's been nothing but gloom at our house lately. Maybe I'll go wake Red up with a shot in the ear from my squirt gun. (Just kidding!)

I Love My Lurkers

Today is the third annual Love Our Lurkers day! In observance of this blogger holiday, I am posting to express my gratitude to all of you who read my blog.

Bonnie, at My Bottom Smarts wrote:
While we may not see your face or read your words, we know you're out there. Even in silence, your return visits provide a gentle affirmation.

I'd like to second this sentiment. While perhaps sometimes I am more of a lurker myself than a blogger, it helps me to know that others are out there listening. To those who feel comfortable commenting and take the time to do so, I am grateful. To those who don't, I am also grateful.

I didn't actually "come out" in the online community until around January 2007. I was a lurker online since 1999. I believe my first blog comment ever was at The Punishment Book, where I posted with much trepidation. After that first step, posting became much easier, and I found that the spanko community at large, and particularly the bloggers, were gracious and even happy about my posts.

So to those lurkers who are out there, I would be so pleased if you would post a message. But if not, no worries. You are always welcome here, and I am grateful that you listen.

Oy, I've been tagged

Yes, Sara, you're right. I generally don't do memes. But since you tagged so nicely...

The Rules-
* Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
* Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog - some random, some weird.
* Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
* Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. One of the main reasons I don't do memes is that I rarely can think of so many things to say about myself. It's also the main reason that I don't post often enough.

2. I knit. I have a large yarn stash in the basement, and the chilly weather is awakening my drive to go gather more wool.

3. I knitted a dinosaur costume for one of my dogs. (Yeah, I know I'm a dork.) He hates the thing, but I still make him wear it on Halloween.

4. I wanted to be a teacher up until I started college, when it suddenly occurred to me that teaching involved a kind of public speaking.

5. I've sung professionally before, which is really weird, since I hate the spotlight. I don't plan to ever do it again.

6. I'm frequently complimented on my fingernails. I don't bite them, so they tend to grow fairly long and I have "nice nail-beds" as one lady told me. I trim my fingernails when they get long enough to interfere with my ability to type. Right now the colder weather is making them more brittle so they'll probably start breaking soon.

7. I can't cook at all. I'm actually not allowed to anymore. I cooked for Red once when we were engaged. I assumed it was a responsibility that we would share. He very sweetly said that he appreciated my efforts but would appreciate it more if I never did it again. He's a great cook, so this arrangement has worked out well for us, except for when he is away on business.

So now I'm supposed to tag 7 more people, but here's the thing... I'm not gonna, and you can't make me! I'm breaking this rule! (Yay me, finally found a rule to break!) So spank me.

Void for Vagueness?

Last night Red declared a new rule. I am not to allow one or both of our dogs to remain outside too long, or I will be punished. This rule came about because yesterday morning I let the youngest of our two dogs outside and left him outside for about 15 to 20 minutes. The length of time was not excessively long, but it was chilly and he's a small dog. When I let him in, I apologized for being a "bad mommy" and assured him that "daddy will punish me for it later." I thought Red was napping at this time and had no idea that he'd overheard my little one-sided conversation.

Anyhow, last night while lying in bed, he informed me that he had in fact heard, and that from now on I really would be getting punished for such infractions. I remained quiet and accepted his pronouncement.

I have to admit though, that the compulsively rule-observant part of me immediately started coming up with questions. I like to follow rules - all rules - to a T, and for that to be possible, there must be a "T." There must be a strict definition of the rule so that I can remain firmly within its limits.

How long is too long? I wanted to ask. Is it conditional on the outside temperature? Is there a "relevant range" of sorts within which it is acceptable to leave him outside for "x" number of minutes, or is it directly (or indirectly) proportional to the relative extremity of the temperature? Does time of day factor into this consideration? What is the equation with which I can determine the appropriate amount of time for the dog to remain outside given all considerable conditions?

I know that if I actually voiced these questions to Red, he'd be completely exasperated with me. My compulsive good-girl-ishness almost never fails to stand in the way of him imposing the boundaries and discipline that I claim to want. And I do want them, though I admit that you'd never know it from my behavior.

So I'm not quite sure what to do now, other than resist the temptation to never let the dogs outside at all...

I Got a Licking

I owe you all an apology for my silence lately. But I assure you, I've been truly punished lately.

Several nights ago, I got my first ass licking.

It was on my bare bottom.

On my wet bare bottom.

I was shaken.

I cried.

Hard.

I never want it to happen again.

Which is why, from now on, I will be closing the bathroom door completely when I go for my shower. Because my cat enjoys the shower way more than a cat should. And when I'm not careful, he sneaks in.

The other night I was washing my hair, oblivious to the stealthy little devil. Attracted to the water dripping off of me (he seriously LOVES water - the little freak), he apparently couldn't resist the temptation of licking some off of my ass.

I was so startled that I screamed bloody murder and scared poor Red half to death. And then, for reasons I don't entirely understand, I burst into tears.

So I hope you will all forgive me my negligence. I have been truly punished.

Self Waxing

You know, you can be an educated person and be a complete idiot. I realize most of you probably know that, but for those who may not have known, I am living proof of this.

Like many women out there, I prefer hairlessness. It is not really a sexual thing for me... more of a germophobic, a-bald-snatch-seems-cleaner kind of a thing. The fact that Red prefers me this way is just a happy bonus.

But shaving my lady parts can be difficult. I've cut myself before, and that's not a pretty sight. Plus there is the stubble and the itchiness. I always thought I'd like to try Brazilian waxing, but I had never tried it for several reasons, mainly 1) can't find a place that does it, 2) I fear it would be too expensive for too short a period of hairlessness, and 3) I'm just too darn embarrassed to pay a complete stranger to do something like that.

So imagine my happy surprise when I found that SurgiWax makes a Brazilian waxing kit that you can do yourself in the privacy of your own home. And it was affordable! So I bought the kit and took it home and eagerly tried it out.

Oh.

My.

God.

The government should use this stuff in place of waterboarding. If I had any state secrets, I'd have been screaming them to the four corners of the world.

I've heard great things about Brazilian waxing. But this is definitely something that you should not do yourself. First of all, it is immensely painful, and convincing yourself to rip off a clump of wax (which is what you wind up with - clumps of wax, not nice neat strips) is difficult to do. Taking three ibuprophen in advance did nothing to make it any easier on me. It is difficult to see what you're doing, the wax winds up getting everywhere, and after all of the effort, you still don't manage to get all the hair. You get most of it, sure. But not all.

But, you say, you're not an idiot. Anyone would have thought this was a good idea and tried it. And you're right about that.

But would an idiot have done it three more times after that?

I have got to find a better way.

Spankings Hurt

I know what you're thinking. "DUH," if you're a bottom, and if you're a top, the ever-annoying "Spankings are supposed to hurt." Grr.

I know that they hurt, and that they are supposed to hurt. But lately spankings really hurt, if you know what I mean.

I haven't had many, which is probably a large part of the problem. I know my bottom has basically become virgin again. But spankings now actually hurt worse than when my bottom was virgin for real. Handspankings leave me gasping, and even if they are brief they leave me with at least a little lasting soreness.

Red has given me a couple handspankings, and one evening about a week ago, he ordered me to pull down my pajama bottoms and panties for a spanking. I was less than thrilled by the prospect. He was digging around in our toy box and emerged with a London Tanners strap that I had mercifully forgotten that we owned.

I didn't want the spanking. I wasn't afraid of it. He'd made it clear that it wasn't punishment and I wasn't in trouble. But I knew it would hurt and not in any kind of good way. But I also wasn't going to argue with him. I agreed to submit to spankings whenever he decided they were necessary. So I stood up and began to lower my pants.

But then he stopped me. He could see the truth in my face - that I didn't, really didn't, want the spanking.

I apologized to him, which he insisted was unnecessary. I don't know if it is hormones, or stress, or what, but spankings don't feel the same to me right now.

I want spankings. At least, I want to want them.

I don't know what is going on with me right now.