Disclaimer: Although nothing in this post is sexual, it contains details of my life, banter and conversations that happen within a self-described 24/7 D/s dynamic and is aimed at normalising and providing acceptance of those of us who choose to live this way. For further reading on my decision not to provide an adult content disclaimer on my non-sexual posts, please see my post “LGBTQ+K: A Case For “Kinky” As A Sexuality“. Thank you.
Contains some strong language.
Today was a little bit easier than yesterday. I felt more emotionally regulated. not perfect admittedly, but certainly far better than I had been. I talked yesterday about doing some self-reflection and I think, knowingly or unknowingly, I had already kickstarted the process.
This morning I promised myself that I would take it easy for the day. When we take a bump, it can take a day or two to get back to normal. Not to worry, I promised myself, I have plenty to do around the lounge, and I could write and draft tomorrow’s post. Even if it’s not much, not much is better than nothing at all.
“What time did you come to bed last night?” Matt asked, he stood with his hip cocked as he observed me quizzically.
“I don’t know, about 1AM?” I offered. It wasn’t, and I knew it, wasn’t but just maybe I can get away with it?
“Pft! Yeah right,” he responded. “I was still up at half twelve and you definitely didn’t sound like you were thinking about coming to bed then.” Rats.
“Fucking hell! Alright, Cogsworth” I teased. He shot me a look and sauntered off, leaving me to realise how lucky I had just been. Thank the heavens for timed breaks.
Just after 11AM, there was a knock at the door. I took a bit of a slip in the shower yesterday and I’d promised myself that I was going to invest in a full-length shower mat so that it never happens again. I didn’t waste time. Even if money isn’t great for another few days, I wasn’t taking any chances. I lost a beloved primary school friend to a head injury after she slipped and hit her head on a bath tile so to me, showers are lowkey death traps.
I tossed the box on the sofa and sat back down for a moment. Hugo was very interested in the box, so I decided to let him help me and sate his curiosity at the same time. Heck, who even needs a mail parcel opener when you have a Jack Russell on standby?
(Yes, I know the lounge is a mess. Don’t worry, I’ve been working on it after this video was recorded 😉 )
After opening our mail came playtime. One of Hugo’s favourite games is what I call Hide & Seek, so as a break from the normal Nerf tennis ball launcher, I decided today that we would play that instead. It usually works to tire him out as well and and to be honest, it’s a bit of a cardio workout for me, too.
Caution: Graphic image below.
Hide & Seek involves a tennis ball, and quickly hiding it so that Hugo has to look for it. Usually, I hide it close to me; behind my back, under my (good) knee, under a cushion, back under my knee again and so on. Hugo loves it because I’m engaged in it, it involves a tennis ball and if I’m sneaky and fast, he gets to give me a good telling off, too. Today, I also included an old towel and when I pulled the “What The Fluff?” with a bath sheet and a tennis ball, I was in for a seriously good lecturing. Jack Russells can be vocal sometimes.
Unfortunately, I underestimated how fast he can move sometimes and as I went to tuck the ball behind my back, Hugo was hot on the case. Flying through the air, one of his rear claws caught my arm and sliced open my flesh. Even if it looks superficial, it definitely bled. I’m not sure whether it was because of the location or because he might have nicked a vein, but anytime I moved, I was left with a red and bloodied mess.
Maybe it’s the nerd in me, but I’m not entirely bothered by blood or scratches. Blood fascinates me, it is the life force and essence of all living beings. It’s complicated in it’s composition and it fascinates me because of it. That’s not to say that I agree with harming myself or others to see it, but I appreciate it and its existence nonetheless.
“It is always said,” I said aloud as I wrapped the dressing around my arm, “that the hardest person to give first aid to is yourself. If it’s your hand or arm, you don’t have a spare hand to do the holding, you know, because it’s here and it’s kind of inconvenient”. I waved my left hand at Matt to demonstrate my case in point.
Thinking back to my old first aid days, then I had to support the sentiment. Somehow, even wriggling, teary-eyed, snotty-nosed children had been that much more easier to deal with than my gangly old self.