Dr. Strangelove

I really needed a night with my Master, not my husband. I got it (I’m still getting it, he’s just gracious enough to be giving me some free time at the moment) and I’m feeling much better for it.

Of course, BDSM in real life is not as neat as it is in theory. When your Master has pulled you over His knee and has started to detail His expectations of you for the evening, that’s the moment your child will choose to start wailing that her stomach hurts. When you’re servicing Him with your mouth, that’s when your child will choose to start screaming in a way that indicates medication is necessary. When you’re tied to the bed and your Master is making use of you, that’s when one of your other children will fall out of bed.

I wish the kids were older and mostly out of the house, so that I could more openly serve as His slave.  I do so enjoy it.

Tags bdsm, Master, slave

I don’t think I can elucidate my feelings right now. The tears were very cathartic. I felt lighter and cleaner for it. Now I just feel like I want to go sit somewhere and be very still and quiet for a long, long time. I don’t want to talk. I just want to be motionless and reflect on things.

I have a recurring class of dreams in which my beloved Doctor does something awful to me in one way or another. It seems that this has spawned a nasty sub-class of dreams: The Doctor And A Celebrity I Hate class.

Last night I dreamt that the Doctor and I had been just hanging around. I was on the computer and he was reading when he decided it was bedtime for us. I didn’t want to go to bed but he was firm. For some inexplicable reason our living room area was separated from the sleeping areas by quite a distance. As we were walking down a sidewalk to get to the bedroom, we passed what was apparently Katy Perry’s house. The Doctor suddenly decided that he hadn’t seen her around all day and needed to check on her to make sure she was okay. I told him she was a grown woman who was likely fine, but he said he was just quickly going to jog over to peek in and see that she was okay and ordered me off to bed, saying he would follow. I went to the bedroom and started preparing for bed. For some reason I stepped outside and could hear his voice carrying over, telling Katy Perry how horrible I was, how he would never be satisfied with me, how stupid I was, etc. I sat down on the bed and fought with myself for a bit, obedience warring with anger. Anger finally won out and I marched in to a courtyard on her property. When I got there the Doctor was reading to her from a newspaper while she played video games. I told him that we needed to go home to talk. He became enraged at me for making him look bad in front of his “friend”. Once home we started an awful fight. At one point I shoved him. He was wearing her necklaces because it made her happy and it made her giggle to see him in them. One of the necklaces broke when I shoved him and he went through the roof, because it was hers and it was special to her. He said he thought it was obvious that he wanted to sleep with her. He said that the only reason he wasn’t was out of deference to me and I should be grateful. He said that since she was so desperate to fuck him he did allow her to suck his cock and that I would just have to put up with my Master’s decisions and be quiet. And that’s when I woke up.

It’s amazing how terribly much this dream is affecting me today. I spent half an hour lying in bed this morning nursing Third, clutching the Doctor’s arm and staring at him, hoping he would wake up and make all the fear and upset and insecurity go away. Because that’s what the dream is about, isn’t it? It’s about my insecurities about my position in his affections, my fears that I’m replaceable. My little nightmare that he’ll replace me and it will be with someone I hate, too. Someone that I can’t even understand the appeal of. Someone I can never measure up to no matter how hard I try.

I think I need to ask for help releasing these awful feelings. I suspect I need to be restrained and swatted until I cry all my fears and insecurities out. I wonder if we can find time after the kids go to bed.

Tags dreams, fear, insecurity, release, restraint, Third

I gave myself the day off from my personal goals. A wonderful friend came in from out of town to visit and we treated ourselves to a day of more calories than you could shake a stick at. I had a crepe with strawberries, banana, nutella and walnuts for lunch with a caramel hazelnut latte. It wasn’t long after lunch we took refuge from the miserable weather in a Starbucks and I found myself with a pumpkin spice latte in front of me. (That’s a lot of caffeine in one day for me. I was fairly gleaming with jittery insanity by the time I got home.) We also went out for Chinese for dinner, since (oops!) I hadn’t planned ahead and had taken nothing out of the freezer. I didn’t even have the makings for a decent vegetarian meal at hand.

My body was gracious enough this evening to give me rather concrete proof that I am not pregnant again. I’m feeling irrationally disappointed and upset by this. Third is so young. So very, very young. I’m still losing the pregnancy weight. And the Doctor feels that he’s done having children and I know I need to accept that. He’s the one that makes the decisions that are best for this family and if he says we’re done, I need to accept that. But I don’t accept it well. I’m weepy and miserable. I’m not ready to be done having babies. When I think about not having any more children I get a sick lump in the back of my throat that makes it painful to swallow. Inasmuch as bearing his children feels like the greatest offering I could give him and the amount of pride I feel in being chosen for the task, I have a hard time accepting that his lack of desire to  have more children is not a rejection of me, nor is it a sign that the act is an insufficient offering. But still… I always feel my most special when he chooses to get me pregnant. And not only am I struggling with the idea that I won’t have more children, I’m struggling with the thought that I’ll never get to feel that… special again. Rare. Select. Chosen. Superior. That smugly twinkly feeling that wraps itself around me and says “His child is growing within you. You are the women of all women to be chosen for this task.” and makes me feel so much better about myself than virtually anything else.

I’m also straining with the feeling that I want to submit so much more than he wants to dominate. I feel like I’m chafing under the freedoms I’m given. When he takes it easy on me, or when he tells me it’s my decision to make, or in any of the other million little situations where I want him to take control so that I may happily serve and follow… I let that sentence get away from me and I’m running out of time to edit. I just have a hard time accepting that if this is how he wants things then clearly this is what’s best. But oh, if he would just take away all this stupid freedom I never earned!

Tags control, food, freedom, goals, pregnancy, submission

Fasting today really helped me with my focus. It also quite sharply brought to light the amount of truly mindless eating  I do. This morning First gave her familiar whine of “I don’t like this!” and left some yoghurt and part of a banana unfinished. I almost automatically went to finish it up. It makes me wonder just how many calories I take in over a day without noticing it. I did have an apple this morning at my Master’s orders. He apparently felt that I should have something before I went out to run errands. I was quite stubborn and sulky about the whole thing. He was good-natured enough to let me get away with it, which was nice. After the swattings I earned last night I’m sore.

I’m simply exhausted. I don’t think I’m getting to the laundry today. Of course, I’m the only one who doesn’t have a dresser full of clean clothes, so I can try to convince me that the only one I’m hurting is myself. I know that’s not true, though, because a certain someone deserves me looking my best. Unfortunately, my current desire to never, ever leave the couch is overriding my desire to please.

Knackered whore, over and out.

Tags discipline, fasting, First

Today has been a pretty miserable failure as far as all of my goals have been concerned. I’ve barely recorded my food intake and most of my chores didn’t get done. I did manage to keep from raising my voice today, which was nice.

I know the issue is that I didn’t take my medication last night like I was supposed to. Even a day without it screws me up. I can’t focus, my moods jump about erratically, I get weird and paranoid and upset… It’s just… ugh. The Doctor has taken responsibility for dispensing my medication from now on as this is the third or fourth time in the last two weeks that I’ve forgotten it. I’m simply no good to anyone like this, least of all myself. (To illustrate just how hard to concentrate it is for me today, I earned myself two corrections for a rule so absolutely basic that I don’t even consciously think about it anymore. And I broke it twice. In the same meal. Sigh.)

Sex tonight was all colours; turquoise and chocolate brown. I want to say that it was something new, but I think it’s more accurate to say I simply haven’t been noticing the colours that have been there all along.

I think a light fast is in order for tomorrow to help me refocus myself after today’s poor showing. Juice, tea and broth until dinner. I should make sure dinner is something light, too. Maybe some garlic broccoli and a salad.

Poo. I do believe tonight is a Pilates night. I’m not feeling motivated or energetic at the moment. Oh well. Must bull through.

Tags chores, colours, correction, discipline, fasting, goals, pilates

This transparency thing is hard. Awareness is hard. Mindfulness is hard.

Only half way through the day and I’ve already raised my voice to Second. It was a knee-jerk reaction to her knocking over a pile of clean laundry I had just folded. I’m assigning myself another day of nutritional discipline for every transgression. The nutritional discipline is a lot more invasive than I expected it would be. I know my breakfast was adequate and healthy but my body is simply screaming for more. It’s certainly working to make me more aware of the extent to which I overeat, as well as to remind me of my goals and expectations for myself.

On the plus side, I’m doing fairly well with the chores I’ve assigned myself. Only one more major chore to go and then I’m finished. Of course, it’s a doozy. Second’s room is in quite the state and I don’t look forward to tidying and organizing it. Sigh.

—–

Well,  Second’s room never got accomplished. There was a minor emergency involving bugs (ew!) that I needed to deal with. I did accomplish everything else on my chore list and more, so I’m not sure if I need to assign myself another day of nutrition discipline or if mitigating factors should be taken into consideration. It will certainly be something to reflect upon tomorrow.

I have started a journal to track my goals, food intake and transgressions. I want to improve my self-accountability and transparency. I also think it will be a handy tool for the Doctor if he wants to check up on where I’m at.

Tags awareness, discipline, goals, mindfulness, Second, transparency

Here we are, another Sunday. A week has passed without me writing a word. This is partly due to Second having been ill all week, partly due to forgetfulness on my part. I need to really work on accountability and watchfulness this week and regular blogging will be a part of that. I need to work on being aware and reflective of my actions.

Of course, cruelty of all well-deserved cruelties, the Doctor has put some fairly strict impositions on my computer time. It is necessary and needful, but I don’t care for it. I’d far rather spend my time messing about the Internet and reading things that interest me than clean house. This, predictably, has lead to the restrictions on my computer use. Much as I know it’s for my own good I still chafe. The real challenge for the coming week will be to transparently blog all my doings and (sigh) transgressions when I would far rather use my limited time to do something more fun.

Other goals for the coming week are:

Pilates x3

Another attempt running

Spending some time in the garden

Vegetarian dinners x2

No raising my voice in the house

Looking at it typed up so neatly, it doesn’t look so daunting. I have a feeling it will feel a lot more difficult and intrusive once I get down to it, though.

Tags accountability, goals, reflection, Second, Sunday, transparency, watchfulness

Dr. Strangelove and I have a little Sunday night ritual. I strip and lie down across his lap. We talk about our week and our goals and all the other sweet stuff we need to talk about. And I get paddled for a good, long time. It’s a nice way to reconnect. It also serves to remind me who the boss is around here, as if I could forget!

Well, last night things didn’t go as planned. One of our lovable, idiot cats was repeatedly jumping in and out of a box in the upstairs hall and causing quite a ruckus. That was distracting, especially when the good Dr. went upstairs to see what the fuss was about. Things didn’t improve when the cat’s noise making woke up our eldest. The Dr. took care of that, too, tucking First back into bed. He came back downstairs. We huddled in the darkness and whispered for a while until we felt confident that First was asleep. Turns out we were wrong. I’m not sure how well the “I was just smacking the couch to scare the cat off” explanation flew, although First did sleepily go back to bed. That was the end of my swatting, I assure you.

Real-life BDSM, folks. It’s glamourous.

Tags bdsm, cats, discipline, First, goals, Sunday

Miss Twatt is a North American woman. She is a native English speaker. She is bigger than a breadbox but somewhat smaller than a city bus. She is a mother and is bossed about by many cats. She is privileged enough to spend her life with Dr. Strangelove. He is her lover, her best friend, her Master, her pillar of support, her biggest booster. He is, in short, her Husband. She is typically not given to the capitalization of nouns although she does speak some German. She is also nerdily pleased to have used the word “privileged” in the context she did, knowing full well that the word is derived from the Latin for private law. She could equally and accurately be described as a lifestyle submissive and a wife in a Taken in Hand marriage. She would love to go on, but has to break up a fight among the children.

Tags cats, Introduction, marriage, mother, submissive, takeninhand, wife