The Dark at 1am

So, things are pretty good… but I was freaking out a little.  I’ve been spending a lot of time looking at reconstructed breasts and what the hell all of this involves.  And it’s freaking me out a little.  In NOT-unexpected keystone-cop-style awesomeness, the VA lost the consult to finish my genetic testing.  It’s going to take about a month to get results and I have to start over.  The office that recommends where to get the test is overwhelmed and can’t recommend where I need to go.  So I spent a bunch of today looking at websites for genetic testing centers and oncology departments and trying to figure out how to gauge such things.  Then I spent a bunch of time last night and tonight looking at reconstructed breasts and procedures.  I had been laughing and amusing myself with the idea of perkier, bigger augmented breasts as a reward for all of this BRCA gene bullshit.  But that’s not really accurate is it?  I might end up with breasts that don’t have nipples.. or surgeries that remove muscle and fat from my stomach to make new breasts, or weeks of inflating tissue expanders under my “breasts” to make room for implants under my chest wall to make new breasts, AFTER mastectomy and a surgery to preserve nipples, if I’m lucky.  Is it just me or does all of that sound like a horror show?

And the pictures.  They are freaking me out a little.  I don’t like getting fillings in my TEETH because I hate being vulnerable.  What the fuck am I going to do if I have to spend months removing and making new breasts??!?  Deep breath.  I’d live.   Continue reading

Inspired by Hump!

Traveler and I went to see the Hump Tour last night.  Dan Savage was there, opening up the festivities.  I was a little fan girl, verklempt to see him there.  I think his husband Terry was there too.  Awesome.  🙂  It was fun watching all the indy porn, and even more fun enjoying what it inspired.  This one has sex and porn, be advised.

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Sweet Words


save loveA while back Peaches and I were talking about relationships.  We somehow came to the recommendation for ourselves to take note of the sweet loving affectionate mushy things our loves said and did that made us feel loved, and to remember them to pull them out when we need a little love or are spinning or down.  (She’s a spinner like me.)  Last night Traveler said a simple sweet thing and I added it to my little bank.

When Peaches and I first had the idea to save up those loving things, I thought about Traveler and I celebrating our anniversary.  He took me to this little place in Alki.  We laughed and talked and were cute and affectionate, holding hands and just feeling all warm and smiley.  He talked to me for a long time about how and why he loved me and said all the beautiful things I want to hear.  This is exceedingly noteworthy because he’s not a big “words” guy.  He says great things, for sure, but it’s not a thing he does on demand.  He’s incredibly loving with action and touch, his manner and affection too.  But I like the words sometimes too.  Ironically, in the same weekend Traveler and I celebrated, Cleveland said beautiful things to me too, at a dinner together in Capital Hill.  It’s been about 6 months since they said that stuff and I still think about the things they said then and since, throughout our time with each other.  I think about the things they do too, maybe more than their words in fact.


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Late Night Doubts

I can’t stand being up like this thinking.  I’m happy, so blissfully happy and then I’m sitting here rethinking everything at 1am.  I’m rethinking my choices and I feel like an idiot.  I feel stupid and I hate my creeping doubts.  Why do doubts gang up at 1am?  I miss him and I hate that I’m rethinking everything and he’s so far away.  Things that shouldn’t bother me are chewing at the edges.  I felt better today and clearer and I got new evidence that I am a big dumb dog.  Maybe it’s nothing.  Maybe it’s something I accepted long ago, but tonight I’m asking if I should have.  Maybe that doubt is right.  Maybe I need to wake up.  Maybe it only feels like all the things I want are possible in my own addled mind.  Maybe I’m setting myself up.  Maybe I’m making it all up.  “Maybe I’m only seeing what I want to see” whispers the cynic.  The cynic is often not right, but the cynic is rarely hurt.  It’s tempting to go there and to let my mind run these halls, but it’s not where I dwell and not where I want to live.  So what if risk often leads to ruin?  Sometimes it doesn’t, right?

I’m hurt and I’m limping a little tonight and that’s why I’m doing this.  I’m taking the little hole and worrying it larger. But I caught myself.  I see this for what it is.  I need to work it out in myself.  I need to talk to him.  I need to stop worrying about what this means.  I need to just realize I’m wanting to protect myself.  I want to hole up and withdraw and put up my rather formidable defenses and I’m looking for a reason.  I am good at finding what I’m looking for.  My mind is a powerful enemy or friend.

And then he sends me a message.  He saw me online and knew I was waiting for info.  I don’t wanna derail any time of fun with his friends so I don’t say anything.  It’s a vacation and he needs it.  It really can wait.  We talk about nothing for a bit and I’m wanting to prolong the conversation and to cut it off.  He tells me about his night and his plans, and he says exactly what I need him to say and can’t ask for.  I try so hard not to be a chick but I am at rare times.

He tells me he’s going watch curling until he falls asleep and says I should get some sleep too.  He tells me he loves me and uses my name.  He wishes me sweet dreams and sends me a kiss.  It’s a small thing, but my mind is a very good ally or foe and it picks that up and says it’s evidence that I need to stop worrying about this.  And it is.  I need some sleep.  I’m not going to figure anything out tonight and 1 am is a bad time for clear and helpful thinking.  Sweet dreams lover.  Sweet dreams worry.  Sweet dreams evidence pro and con.  There is plenty of time for worrying tomorrow.  There is plenty of time to move on too.  Sweet dreams risk and reward and cynic.  All of you stop spinning now.  Sweet dreams.

Mmmm.. Good.

Sex probably shouldn’t be as reassuring to me as it is, but well, it is.  This one has some explicit sex.  Be advised.

I’ve had reason to need reassurance and I got it.  Traveler and I have had weeks of dates where we were getting a lot of work done.  I was moving and we shopped for things I’d need and he helped move me and just do all kinds of chores.  We worked on some of his stuff too.  I love this and its a good thing.. but we really looked forward to being together to just chill.


Woman in a sexy gingham bent sexily into the oven found at :

So this weekend we happily planned a “nothing” date.  We planned a nice afternoon out having some low-key fun and an evening of making casseroles, playing WoW and petting.  We got lots of petting and snuggles Friday, but we’re gluttons for it, so another day of it sounded great.  He may be the only person I’ve ever been with that loves snuggling and petting as much as I do.  It’s a lovely thing when your love of affection matches.

We made two yummy casseroles together.  I love cooking with him, talking and playing, grabbing his butt while he stirs.  Lovely.  We caught up on all sorts of conversation and made some naughty plans.  Huzzah.  It was a lot later than we’d planned when we finished cooking and talking and showered, and we decided to play WoW in the morning. It’s been a while, and I’ve been sick, and this was the first time we’ve had sex since my health stuff came to light.  I was worried it would be odd, and that there would be this thing between us.  But there wasn’t.  It wasn’t weird. If anything it was sweeter, more connected, more passionate.  I wanted to make it last, wanted to soak it up, and we did at first, kisses and touches and locked eyes, slowly achingly moving.  But we quickly got a little carried away and frantic, and it was over too soon.  We were both sated, and reeling, but we couldn’t break apart.  You know how it is when you just can’t break the spell?

I worried about nothing.  I feared nothing.  Or well.. no.  I had real fears that are luckily unfounded.  He’s told me this a few times now that I needn’t worry, and held me and told me how much he loved me.  He’s spent time with me and been present.  He’s talked to me and touched me and helped me.  And ALL of that was so needed and so important.  In no way do I want to negate that.  I have to tell you, right wrong or indifferent, that his actions have reassured me.  But I held this last little bit of vulnerable fear until he fucked me.  I needed him to need me and want me.  I needed to know I wouldn’t change in his eyes or lose this amazing connection.  I needed him to move with me and I needed his passion.  I needed to be the same woman to him.  It’s maybe a little bit of how I’m wired.  I have lots of love languages and sex is by no means the most important.  But it is one of the easiest.  And I’m grateful.

Dumb Questions

I had the nicest time last night at a very lovely New Year’s Eve party.  It was nice, everyone just relaxing and having fun.  Cleveland and his wife threw a truly lovely party.  She made her addictive cookies, a pork roast, and spaghetti squash with pesto.  I brought a super rich delicious mocha cheesecake that gave the girls afterglow, and Traveler and his wife brought caprese.  Peaches and her beau made yummy homemade sushi and these cookies she’s kinda famous for.  Cleveland made the best cosmos and whiskey sours in town.  There was lovely conversation, food appreciation, and just general relaxing good times.

On the way to make an appearance at Traveler’s Wife’s Boyfriend’s party the conversation meandered with Traveler and I and I asked him, after he’d talked about how he’d been in love with someone, if he felt he was in Imagelove with me.

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Quinky Girl Understands "Too Much"

I read this post by Quinky Girl at Blogspot.  It’s called The Mystery of Medusa.  Holy shit.  Holy Shit. 

ImageI said to her:

“Holy shit.  Printing.  I can’t believe someone said it.  I can’t believe someone gets “too much” and all the layers of it.  I simply can’t explain too much.  I get twisted and don’t have the words and it comes out weaker and stronger than I mean it and with all the wrong emphasis.  You’re right that the particulars are different, but that the feelings are similar.  I saw my thoughts and feelings in so much of what you wrote.  It’s been a year of coming to terms with “too much” again.  I thought this was one I had licked.  I grew so much with it and at first I was exhausted to find myself here again, but I see it’s a journey with me.  I’m not in the same place, but I am on the same path or digging in the same vein or whatever.  I like the growth but I don’t always like the process.  I accept it, but it’s not comfortable.  That’s okay.  My life is not about being as comfortable as I can be.  Thank you for digging this up and posting it”.

Fugees – Killing Me Softly

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd.
I felt he’d found my letters and read each one out loud.
I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on.

Strumming my pain with his fingers.
Singing my life with his words.
Killing me softly with his song.
Killing me softly with his song.
Telling my whole life with his words.
Killing me softly.

He sang as if he knew me in all my dark despair.
And then he looked right through me as if I wasn’t there.
But he was there, this stranger, singing clear and loud.