The Domme. Maybe?

Struggling to find a subject matter that would entice more viewers. Struggling to identify anything that would pique my own interest right now, let alone some one else.

My research has shown me that there are plenty of blogs about D/s, which is something new I am absolutely obsessed with...more in theory and less in practice. And being wildly inexperienced...meaning, not experienced whatsoever in any explicit way, I really have no right to write about it here. Besides saying, it's a compelling lifestyle. And that I don't know what I am. Interesting right?  To package all the things you are into a one or the other. I find it fascinating for a number of reasons...one of which is I have always been a proponent of recognizing and embracing our dynamism. We are like moving water, constantly changing, sometimes murky, sometimes pregnant with various forms of other life, sometimes crystal clear, sometimes churning, and sometimes sinking forever in the muddy shores. And that's a good thing. So, calling yourself a D or an s, and exploring that is NOT a bad thing, but it makes me confused. And I guess that's ok. I guess that's actually a really good thing. Confusion is flux. Motion. It's churning thoughts and rejecting the notion that things are what they are and taking them at face value.

But I digress. Or do I? So, am I "D" or am I "s?" Do we all fall into a category whether we act on the feelings or urges or needs or not? It's about perspective. And perspective is impossible to capture. So I say fuck it, I'm gonna drink some wine.

There's also a rat that lives in our apartment that has been ravaging all of our food. One room mate caught it in the act which prompted rat poison which has prompted me to question my own humanity. I immediately held my index finger to the side of nose and screamed not it. Not it in poisoning it and REALLY NOT IT in looking for and removing its decaying stinky carcass. But things would change if it touched one of my cute little chickens.

I'm exhausted. I have to write a media advisory (DON'T EVEN PRETEND YOU ARE NOT ENVIOUS MY LIFE) and eventually finish this beer and pass out on my couch in the most classy way possible.

Michael Buble sucks and keeps popping up on one of my pandora stations which leaves me outraged and angry that Canada is so close and that they allow so many douchebags to exist...and make a career around being a douchenozzle.

Blah.