So much of my life right now is dedicated to other people, other things... my fiance, my daughter, my friends, the animals I work with... that when it comes down to being still and alone with myself, I find myself faltering.
I fill that time with other things, less meaningful distractions to take my mind off that frightening stillness. I find solace in random discussions with people I have both a lot and very little in common with. I'm teaching myself Spanish (the first in a series of languages I'm desperate to master before I turn 40 - which is when my daughter will be in college and I'll be able to travel the world like I've always wanted. Anyone want to pay for me to take a vacation?). I throw myself head first into medical book upon medical book, memorizing jargon and terms that will never benefit me in my veterinary medical career. I read books about stillness and contemplation, but I've never really been good at the practice.
But I never really have time alone to speak of. Although my daughter is in bed, my cat is staring up at me from the foot of the computer chair, begging me for attention (and probably food, she has a bit of a weight problem and you'd think that I, of all people, would be attentive to that). I'm talking to people online who demand at least part of my attention. I surround myself with this beautiful white noise to counteract the demons that sometimes scream in my head.
Submission tempers this for me, but there's a decided lack of that in my current life as well. The only time I'm truly alone is when I lock my cat in the bedroom, put my daughter to bed and do yoga. I stop, I calm, I center... but even that fades away within minutes of coming out of that state.
What I want the most right now is to crawl into bed with someone, just so that I'm not alone. I want passion to overwhelm the thoughts. Sometimes I think about you, as I lie in bed, wonder what it would feel like to have my skin pressed against yours in the moonlight. It gets me through and, on the lucky nights, I fall asleep after the orgasm fades.
The funny thing is that you think I'm strong. I'm not nearly as strong as I wish I were, and not nearly as weak as I used to be.
I fill that time with other things, less meaningful distractions to take my mind off that frightening stillness. I find solace in random discussions with people I have both a lot and very little in common with. I'm teaching myself Spanish (the first in a series of languages I'm desperate to master before I turn 40 - which is when my daughter will be in college and I'll be able to travel the world like I've always wanted. Anyone want to pay for me to take a vacation?). I throw myself head first into medical book upon medical book, memorizing jargon and terms that will never benefit me in my veterinary medical career. I read books about stillness and contemplation, but I've never really been good at the practice.
But I never really have time alone to speak of. Although my daughter is in bed, my cat is staring up at me from the foot of the computer chair, begging me for attention (and probably food, she has a bit of a weight problem and you'd think that I, of all people, would be attentive to that). I'm talking to people online who demand at least part of my attention. I surround myself with this beautiful white noise to counteract the demons that sometimes scream in my head.
Submission tempers this for me, but there's a decided lack of that in my current life as well. The only time I'm truly alone is when I lock my cat in the bedroom, put my daughter to bed and do yoga. I stop, I calm, I center... but even that fades away within minutes of coming out of that state.
What I want the most right now is to crawl into bed with someone, just so that I'm not alone. I want passion to overwhelm the thoughts. Sometimes I think about you, as I lie in bed, wonder what it would feel like to have my skin pressed against yours in the moonlight. It gets me through and, on the lucky nights, I fall asleep after the orgasm fades.
The funny thing is that you think I'm strong. I'm not nearly as strong as I wish I were, and not nearly as weak as I used to be.
This entry was posted by Mellie, on
Monday, September 04, 2006.
