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.
I have to be honest, I didn’t know how far I was going to get today. Today was one of those days where, had I not noticed what day it was, then today would have passed without a hitch. It was only when I noticed that my laptop calendar read 08th July – Dad’s birthday – that it panged. Dad would have been 62 today and my father, who drank only water and ate healthy foods like they were going out of fashion, is dead. By comparison my father-in-law, who has a less than a stellar diet and smokes, is still going well at 69. I don’t wish death on anyone and yet, it was also my reason for being so damn angry at these diet gurus. By my experience, then living the best life means you live longer. Dad’s Mum was 83 when she passed, and she definitely wasn’t skinny.. My other Nan was 81, and she definitely wouldn’t shy away from a fruit cake or two, either. Maybe apples are something to stay clear of, after all.
I try to make peace with losing Dad, but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t quietly anxious on the inside. Where is he now? Is he around me? Did he just cease to exist? My fear of death has become something else – the fear of the paranormal. I can’t get a drink at night because of an irrational fear that their may be monsters outside my kitchen window. I’m terrified in the dark because I’m terrified my Dad might haunt me for some unknown reason. Even with Mum’s assurances that Dad would never hurt me, what if he does for whatever reason? What if he’s angry with me for some unknown reason? Nobody has all of the answers, and that terrifies me. I need to know, for sure.
Sometimes lately, I find myself in a state of “wondering”. Particularly, I find myself wondering what my father would think of my keeping fish and shrimp. We had tropical fish before, sure, but what would he make of the shrimp? I wanted to ask him, and I couldn’t. “That’s a bit different, I suppose” I guessed he might say. Dad was very polite, and Dad’s ‘a bit different’ was his way of telling you that it’s not his cup of tea. He would have nothing against it, it’s just not something that Dad would do. For me, I love my shrimp. Sometimes, I think, maybe even more than my fish.
Yesterday, I talked water parameters with ‘my shrimp guy’. The running joke in this household is that most people have a dealer for drugs, and I have a go-to guy for shrimp. He’s my go-to guy because he does free plants and shrimp. I ordered five, he sent me eight. I order ten, he normally sends twelve. Normally he does two extras as part of his custom anyway but I think, after my mass loss and repeated custom, he felt bad and sent me one extra. Tomorrow will be a maddening process of drip acclimatisation over several hours. First, adding my tank water to the water that is in the bag, then pouring most of it out and then repeating the process all over again before finally netting them out and adding them in if the parameters match exactly. One day, I absolutely will acclimatise my shrimp successfully! I’m already drip-feeding water changes., and they say keeping shrimp is easy!
But by evening, it was time to watch the Denmark – England game.
I have to admit, I’m not usually into football and yet last night, even my butt was on the sofa. As we got to the last minutes, even I couldn’t help but bounce up and down with excitement. “I’m getting this football game now!” I declared excitedly, Matt high-fived me. It was about time, apparently.
Following our astounding 1-2 win Matt, who was by now somewhat drunk, decided to place another Deliveroo order. In that order was more beer and a box of four Dunkin Donuts.
“Guess what I got?” Matt asked, swaying like a tree in a breeze, “motherfuckin’ Dunkin’ Donuts!”. Even despite of his proud purchase, they didn’t get eaten.
“Morning Kitten” Matt croaked at me. Oh man, the evening of shouting at the TV sure had caught up on him.
“Good morning” I replied, hauling myself up onto my elbow.
“So apparently, I bought Dunkin Donuts last night. I don’t even like Dunkin’ Donuts” Matt said, amused.
“You did. Enjoy those, won’t you?” I giggled. Oh yes, my inherited sarcasm was ever-present, even before my morning brew.
“I have no idea. I don’t need them and my bank balance certainly doesn’t need them, either.”
Today would have been hard and yet, as I look at the box of Dunkin’ Donuts, I can’t help but chuckle. Dad would have found it hilarious and he would have tormented Matt, or “Frank” as he liked to call him, for weeks afterwards. As much as I don’t like them, they also feel like a bizarre treat from the heavens, exactly the kind of thing that Dad would have bought as part of the late night clearances in ASDA. In his own little ways, I suppose Dad’s always going to be around us somehow.
Happy birthday Pops, wherever you may be.