Where Words Go

Things I write go here

Category: Musings

The uphill climb.

I regret to inform that lack of motivation and extreme business  have kept me from something I should have powered through but have yet to. I  miss you and shall fight on, so I may create children with the written word, waiting to blossom.

I wrote a bit about drama. It goes a little something like this.

In discussing drama, and how we get to it, will only open the gates to drama.

We try to be without it, but there it is, like the stench of a wet dog on a rainy day. It clings, it lies in wait. It is in the shows we watch, the music we listen to. It is in the way the cat looks at you, then that paper plate. Then the prick knocks it over and looks back up at you with those big, big eyes that say, ‘Yeah. I did that. What?’

The point is, it comes in levels, it can be miniscule, it can escalate quickly and whirlwind out of control. We all ride the storm, come out a little shaken and sober at the end of it, and seek out the next ride. Even if unwittingly.



Here’s a long shot

Sometimes, when an old online friend messages me and asks me how life has been, and expresses that they like the long updates, I wonder if they enjoy the weeks to months we do not talk. So that, when we do talk again, it’s like reading the next chapter of a slightly fucked up story with tidbits of kinky porn they had never known existed.


I’ve been behind, and I’m not all that bothered. I should be, but it’s been a heavy couple of weeks. I know I’ll pull myself back on the horse, but I’d like to sleep for a while first.


It’s easy to worry about things you’re going to send off into the world, because of the want for perfection.

I don’t know how to want to do something: On being indecisive

I don’t know how to want to do something: On Being Indecisive

I am a very indecisive person. That’s not to say I don’t make my own decisions. I pick out my own clothes, and what to eat, I give myself a bed time. I take care of what needs to be taken care of. When it comes to decisions of myself, I’m fairly capable most of the time.

I enjoy being spontaneous but I don’t know how to be. I want to go out and do things, but I don’t always know where to go, how to get there, and who to go with. Typical things that will strike my fancy are concerts. I don’t know many concert lovers. I have trouble thinking of going anywhere by myself, even if it’s grocery shopping.

My indecisive nature typically relates  to one on one instances.

I have an older brother. We always did what he wanted to do, and since I idolized him, I went along with it. He had to watch me, and be the older brother. Because of him I learned to draw. I took direction.

I listened to my parents, I went to line dancing, polka dancing, holiday events, and never complained.

I grew up, I branched out, I made friends along the way, and I did a lot of what they wanted to do. My best friends now are fairly indecisive as well, but we’ve learned how to work with each other.

As a girlfriend, I did what my boyfriend’s wanted to do. There were so many things each of my boyfriends would want to do, and I obliged happily. I always liked to please, especially my boyfriends. I think it was somewhere back there I gave up on being decisive.

I have been abused for being indecisive. Not physical, but the verbal abuse was heavy. Decision making became stressful. Especially when it became on the spot decision making, because sometimes those decisions led to some unfavorable times. I freeze when put on the spot, and when told to decide on something, it makes my anxiety soar. My mind goes blank, and I become afraid.

Over the years I’ve leaned towards other indecisive people, and those with dominant personalities. It becomes a sense of completing each other. I like a guy who will ask me what I want to do, and when I shrug at him, he then takes the lead. I like the guy that makes it clear that there’s always the option to say no, and still not always make the decision on my own. It’s a support system, and it’s easier to cope that way.

I’ve come to accept this. I don’t care that I don’t always know what I want to do, because when I let other people decide, I get to do something they enjoy, and I enjoy it because of that. And I always go along for something I at least know I would enjoy, or could enjoy so long as I open myself to it.

Being more active lately has made decisiveness hard as well. Being in groups makes it excessively hard for me to find my footing and create a solid plan in my head.  It worries me to think of going to events alone. All I want to do is ask a number of people if they’ll let me tag along and do what they want to do, because I don’t know how to make that decision on my own.

My shyness helps with that a lot, as well, of course. But that’s a whole other thing.

I reach out as much as I can, and have struggled not to be this way for a long time. Recently I’ve come to the realization that this is how I am, and it is how I’ve been for a long time, and while I take more charge in situations that I used to, when I’m excessively comfortable with someone, I just want to do what they want to do. Especially if it makes them happy.

On Collars

A collar is like a promise ring, or engagement ring, or even a wedding ring. It is a statement of ownership and togetherness. It is a promise and a gift. It is given with great thought, and sometimes given through a ceremony, and it is worn pretty much all of the time. (Except for those of us who have OCD and need to take it off to wash it.)

My collar is a piece of me. It is a promise. It is my right and privilege to wear it.

What prompts this writing is the knowledge that in some group meetings, a collar is considered fetish, and asked to be removed during a vanilla gathering so as not to upset the vanilla’s.

I wear my collar to work, to job interviews, around my family, and out at the store. I wear it everywhere. It’s a simple chain and heart padlock I wear at work, and I have a hemp one, hand crafted by my Master, that I wear when I’m feeling hippie.

The chain and heart is a pretty popular thing right now, plenty of vanilla’s wear them, but us kinksters see so much more in it. The beauty in the chain locked together by a heart. And it’s got that girlish flair, and I may not consider myself very feminine, but hey, I like some girlish flair every now and again.

I get complements by more non kinksters than kinksters about it, and it isn’t the most obvious public collar. Then again, I think that’s fairly common, public collars that aren’t bam, in your face collars.

With some styles of dress, collar’s are in, as well, and it’s simply a fashion accessory. There is a lot of ignorance out there when it comes to the fetish world, so it’s going to be just as easy to think absolutely nothing about a collar, and pass it off as a simple accessory.

If someone were to come up to me and tell me, or ask me, to remove my collar, I would be offended. It’s almost as bad as reaching out to touch it, yank on it, or take it off themselves.

Would you approach a married couple and tell them to take off their wedding rings?

I am who I am because of who I am, what I am into, and the things I explore. I am safe, I believe in consent, and I did not take being collared lightly. I do not shout out to the world what I do in my spare time, people don’t want to know, and I don’t want to know what they do in their spare time. If I were to walk out without my collar on, I would be devastated and horribly mopey all day. That is a piece and a part of me. It connects me to my Master.

It reminds me of my relationship, of the effort that goes into that relationship, and it’s a hearty hug around my throat, always reminding me I have someone who cares for me, and wants me for their own.

I belong to someone, and I am proud to let the world know. Why should that affect anyone, in any amount, other than me and the person who gave me my collar?