happy holidays

Well, it’s been awhile since I last posted. I received a number of emails asking if I was alright, and I would just like to thank everyone for their concern. There were a number of comments that I didn’t reply to as well, and I’m sorry for that. I needed to just take a break from blogging because all of the crap I was writing about was just dragging me down into a depression and I really didn’t want to go there.

That, and I was feeling overwhelmed because I feel obligated to visit everyone’s blogs and comment and I just couldn’t keep up. I was too exhausted physically (from work) and it takes hours to read all the blogs I follow and I literally wasn’t getting enough sleep because of it. I hope to find time in the next few days to visit some of your blogs, but I can’t promise it. I’m sorry; I feel really awful about that.

I’ve got almost 3 weeks holiday time now because schools are closed, but I’ve also got to meet up with friends and do the Christmas thing. I’m rather an introvert and therefore not a very sociable person, so these kinds of situations really suck the life out of me. Not really looking forward to it, to be honest. But I kind of have to do it or people will be upset and I’d rather just go and not have everyone pissed off at me. Lots of birthdays at this time of year too, so it will be nonstop Christmas/Birthday/New Years’ stuff throughout my holiday.

Nothing much new in the past month or so. I tried out a local BDSM dating site, but the people there are almost all married and almost all of them are just sick twisted freaks who want to do things I’ve never even seen listed on sites like CM or Alt. So I guess I won’t be meeting anyone from there. Kind of ready to just give up on the whole finding a new Master (or even a Dom) thing. Just doesn’t seem to be in the cards for me here. I may just take the Lt Col up on his previous offer to introduce me to some of his friends, as at least I could be sure they wouldn’t be psychopaths, which would be  a nice change.

We’ll see.

I have decided that I am not going to go home to the USA. It’s just too complicated. And even though I am not particularly happy here in Oz, I doubt I’d be any happier in the USA. At least I have the Lt Col here; back home I really don’t have anyone apart from my family and they really aren’t on the top of my list of people I’d care to associate with. Besides, I know how to get by here in Oz. I don’t really want to go through massive culture shock all over again, which is precisely what would happen if I went home. Hell, I don’t even know where I’d go home to, if I went home at all.

So, that’s about all I’ve got to say right now. Again, I’m really sorry about being such a bad blogger and not visiting those of you who have so kindly offered your support since I started blogging back in September. I just kind of got in over my head with dredging up my past and I guess I’m not as adjusted as I’d thought I was. Lesson learned. I’m not sure when I’ll blog next… maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. I just don’t perform well when I feel like I’m under pressure to do something, and that is how I was starting to feel. Obviously that is something I made myself feel, but it was a crappy feeling, nonetheless.

Just in case I don’t blog again for a while, I wish all of you a happy holiday season and a happy and healthy new year.

M.


what is happiness?

I went through most of my life not being conscious of whether or not I was happy. I’ve experienced moments of what I suppose could be called happiness, but it was never a permanent state of being. That is not to say I was conscious of being unhappy throughout the greater part of my life. In fact, I was too busy trying to survive one crisis or another to even consider how I was feeling at any particular moment in time. Stressed, would probably be the feeling I was most often aware of.

During the last 5 years, however, I became acutely aware of my seemingly-permanent state of unhappiness. Whenever this is discussed with the Lt Col, he seems fond of asking me what would make me happy. I don’t think I’ve ever had a particularly good answer for him. I have been alive long enough to have learned that, if I think X, Y or Z will make me happy, ultimately the happiness derived from them will only be short-lived and then I will be right back where I started from.

Many of the blogs I read are written by people who seem to have found happiness. Others are written by people who seem to know what will make them happy, should they be able to get their hands on it (and I use that phrasing loosely, as some are seeking love, which is obviously not something one can physically touch). I, however, have no idea of what would make me happy, as I am not even sure of what happiness is. Is it a feeling of peace? Well-being? Gratitude? Elation? A combination of all these things?

I’m just not sure.

Part of this stems from feeling as though I am not living up to whatever purpose I was intended for — I do believe we are all here for some intended reason. That much I have at least determined to be a truth (for me, at least; you may disagree). But it seems a bit silly to think I have “survived” so many experiences in my life, yet not really accomplished anything. Not anything that really matters, that is. I have “succeeded” in 2 separate fields, acquired a good deal of knowledge in another, and have managed to “earn” recognition among my peers in each of those areas — but what is that, really?

A whole lot of nothing, in the grand scheme of things.

Which just goes back to the existential crisis thing. Is falling in love the ultimate form of happiness? Sharing a life with someone? Perhaps a D/s lifestyle? Serving a Master? Finding a slave to call your own? Having children (which I personally do not want to do, for various reasons)? Helping others in some way? Paying something forward? Philosophical enlightenment? Intellectual advancement? It seems to me that some of the happiest people I’ve known, have been dirt poor and uneducated, blissfully unaware of what goes on in the world beyond that of their small town, or small urban sector of existence.

What is the basis of their happiness? Most of them were not in love at the time I knew them; few had children to dote on. Yet somehow they were at peace and very happy. Some of them radiated a glow that was simply awe-inspiring. I would like a taste of that, but I wonder where it actually stems from? Would they suddenly be unhappy, if they were made aware of what they were “lacking” in the material sense? I suspect not. And if indeed not, what do they have that is missing from my own life, or the lives of others who do not know what would make them feel complete, or happy?

So I would like to ask those of you who care to share:

What does happiness mean to you? Are you happy? What is it that has made you happy? And if you are not happy, what would make you so? For the long haul, I mean; not just a fleeting moment of exhilaration or excitement. I am curious to see how many replies will actually involve another person, such as a significant other, or family member. Thanks in advance for your comments.

No wrong answers, of course… I am just curious.

M.


limbo

During the last week, I’ve been sleeping whenever I’ve gotten the chance, and in doing so I ended up neglecting my blog and my blog friends. Sorry about that, I will be round to visit y’all later in the evening today. I hope. The thing is, when I’m feeling depressed, all I want to do is sleep, so that’s pretty much all I’ve done, apart from working. If I didn’t have to work, I probably would’ve slept straight through the week. I’m feeling as though I’m in limbo and do not know what the next step in life is supposed to be.

Over the last 5 or 6 years I’ve been in the midst of an existential crisis. The ups and downs appear to be cyclical. I go through periods where I try to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing with my life, and then right when I start to feel like I’m getting a grasp of what exactly that ought to entail, I end up meeting someone new. And then all of that focus goes out the window as I spiral down a random rabbit hole with some psychopath and then get stuck down there until I manage to disentangle myself from the relationship.

It seems to happen to with such precision, that I’m a bit worried. If the pattern holds true this time, that means I should be encountering a new psychopath any day now. I know that seems nuts, but I swear to God, every time I start to feel like I’m figuring out what I’m meant to be doing with my life, I literally meet a nutter within a week. Only time will tell; hopefully that won’t happen at all. But I won’t be surprised if it does; I just hope I’ll be strong enough to walk the other way this time.

I think I’ve finally accepted the fact that going home to the USA is not going to improve my life in any way, and would likely make it worse on many levels. I can’t afford to just go back and start over on my own, and I would definitely have to stay with my mother for a time. The Lt Col has always been vehemently opposed to this idea, and when I told him last week that I’d thought perhaps it was a bad idea, he looked visibly relieved to hear it. But it’s not just her — I don’t want to “start over”. I’ve done it too many times in my life and I’m at an age where I just want stability now.

Am I happy here in Oz? No. Would I be happy back home? Not with my mother, for sure. Would I find the right Master, or even Dom back home? No guarantee. Will I ever find him here? Seems very unlikely. Does it matter? At the moment, no, because I have given up on finding Him. I have been in this head space before… this is what always happens when I sit down and focus on straightening out my existential crisis. I seem unable to focus on both issues at the same time, and right now, the latter is taking precedent.

Of course, if I meet someone tomorrow, that may all change, seeing as how I tend to be such a weak person whenever a man with any amount of determination is involved. Especially if he happens to be a psychopath. The holidays are coming up and I’ve been invited to Thanksgiving dinner at a friend’s house. This is not a holiday that is celebrated in Oz, and I would just as soon not celebrate it at all — but if I don’t go, it will put strain on the relationship, as that person would not take it well.

Christmas and New Year’s are not so far off, either. They may seem to be, but in my mind, they are not. And I am not looking forward to them. I will be invited to Christmas dinners soon, too, as the locals and expats start planning their guest lists. In the past, I have usually accepted invitations, albeit reluctantly. I think that this year I will stay home. The main reason behind this, is that I don’t know how I will react to those holidays. It was a few days before Christmas last year that the vet had told me I’d have to put Pooh-bear to sleep, and in fact he’d wanted me to do it the day he’d told me.

I couldn’t, I wasn’t prepared for it, she wasn’t in pain, and I just couldn’t cope with it. He then told me I’d need to do it when the clinic opened a few days after New Year’s. I’d thought that would be the best scenario, as it would give me more time to spend with her. But instead, I was a wreck during that entire period of time, because all I could think about when I looked at her, was that she’d be dead in a few weeks, and had no idea what was coming. I’m not sure how I’m going to cope with that this year, as it will be 1 year on.

Well. That’s all I really have in me today. It’s a cold and rainy afternoon here in Oz and I’m going to sleep through as much of it as I possibly can. When I wake up, I will be round to catch up on what you’ve all been doing. Thank you to those who sent me kind messages, they were appreciated. Unfortunately, when I am depressed, I really just can’t motivate myself to communicate with the living at all, and I just sleep. It is the only time I feel completely at peace.

Right now I’m just trying to make it through to next Friday when the Lt Col comes back.

M.


depression and fragility

When I was young, I took great pride in hearing how strong I was, as I’d thought it an accurate description. I hadn’t been fully cognizant of my dissociative state at the time. As I came out of that state in my 20s, I remained capable of surmounting obstacles and achieving my goals, but I was not fully prepared for the onslaught of human emotions that accompanied the individual experiences. I dealt with those situations by channeling everything I felt into “hope” and “determination”. I never accepted defeat and I always succeeded in whatever I set out to do.

Getting involved with the Professor changed all of that. Changed me. I broke a little more each day and depression set in. Yet, at the same time, I held out hope that someone would rescue me from the depths of my despair, my dismal situation. This was a fantasy I’d clung too throughout my childhood, as well, hoping that someday someone would save me from a mother who, as the Lt Col says, clearly hated me from the moment of my birth. Of course, no one rescued me from either situation, but that hope remained intact, as did some measure of strength.

Years and years and years of disappointment after disappointment only served to make me more determined to overcome. To succeed. But looking back upon those years, I now realize that there was nothing to succeed at, nothing to achieve; it was just a coping mechanism to survive whatever was happening at the time. I first realized this about 4 years ago, when someone asked me if I was going to return to my old career at some point. I realized that career had been nothing more than a means to justify everything that I had experienced as a child / teenager. To give it meaning and purpose.

What utter nonsense and what a lengthy delusion to have had. That career was primarily ego-driven and did not validate me  as a person in any way, shape or form. And in pursuing that career, I was merely delaying the inevitable fall that was bound to happen once I realized that I was still the same exact person I’d always been, and nothing would ever change that. I was never strong as a child, teenager, or young adult — I was only half-present for most of those years. How could I have been strong? The very word makes me feel sick and I loathe having it attributed to me.

And yet… to go back to the issue of “hope”… it remained for years and years and years. I’ve no idea how, but self-delusion must have played a part in it. I clung to hope for the first few years of Pooh-bear’s life, refusing to acknowledge that her condition would only continue to deteriorate and become more difficult to cope with, until that situation finally wiped all the hope out of me. But I held onto it for a good few years — delusion and denial at their level best.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I held out hope that I would meet a man who could cope with her issues. And then came the Serbian. When he raped me, I came very close to having a genuine mental breakdown. I suppose I actually did have one over the day or two that followed. But I managed to keep that hidden from the Lt Col for a full year, until the PTSD started on my next birthday. I’d all but lost hope of finding a new man during that year. It was the first time I had stopped looking, stopped trying.

After the PTSD for that particular issue had been dealt with, I dipped my toes in the dating pool again. I’d mustered up a little bit of hope, but not much. Despite how my last date with Sniper went, I was mad about him for quite awhile and I felt like a new person. All of my hope had returned and then some, and I felt happy for the first time in my life. Yes, in my entire life, I had never ever felt like that before, and never have since. But when that ended, I crashed. Hard. And I think my hope died with that relationship. I managed to get a bit happy (a bit) with people I’d met after Sniper, but as soon as I realized it wasn’t going to work out, I crashed even harder — not because I was sad about them personally, but because it was seeming more and more clear that I was never going to find someone.

I asked the Lt Col why I am so strongly affected now when something turns out badly. I’d certainly never used to be so strongly affected. I asked him if I was Bi-Polar — how could I be so “up” with Sniper, and then so extremely “down” for months afterward. The Lt Col says I am not Bi-Polar at all, that I am just fragile. That most of the time I am just down, and never have any ups at all. And that is true, I guess. Nothing makes me happy, nothing excites me, nothing feels good. More often than not, the thing I love to do most is sleep — and yet it is the single most difficult part of my day, as I can never stay asleep for more than a few hours before I wake up from a nightmare.

I asked the Lt Col why he has told me that I am strong in the past, if he thinks I’m so fragile? He said that I am strong in the sense that most people would not have survived my childhood. And while I have posted some stories from those days on this blog, I have barely scratched the surface of what it was like living with my mother. I reminded him that I was, as he said, in a dissociative state during that time, so that seems to me like I was simply out of my fucking mind and far from sane to begin with. He seems to think I’m sane and always have been. I am starting to think he may be delusional himself.

I felt pretty good on Thursday when I’d finally seen the Lt Col after a 3 week gap in our sessions. On Saturday, I’d found a local D/s dating site for people from Oz. I actually felt a tiny surge in hope. By last night, I’d realized that these people are just fucking insane and have no concept of what D/s means. And I can understand that, as it is a completely new concept here; they simply don’t know what the fuck it is. They think D/s means S&M, and hardcore shit at that. They have questionnaires that are meant to be filled out when you sign up, and everyone fills them in.

The questions range from what kind of torture you enjoy, to whether or not you enjoy bestiality and to what degree. There are no normal questions. Everything is all about electroshock, scat, bestiality, living in cages, etc. Not one ad is about a healthy D/s relationship that integrates various BDSM practices or fetishes. And many ads state ‘no safe words and no compromises’. Of course, only 30% of the men on that site are Doms. The rest are subs. And that just goes to show how the men are over here — must be something in the water.

Once I realized how hopeless it all was, I crashed. Completely. A long time ago, I used to be very hopeful, with setbacks barely getting me down. Now I am rarely hopeful, with setbacks sending me further down than I would’ve thought possible. I’d wanted to blog yesterday or the day before, but couldn’t motivate myself to get up out of bed. I am 2 weeks away from seeing the Lt Col again because of another work-related trip of his, and I just feel like I am totally alone.

When I feel like this, I always end up focusing heavily on my existential crisis, which I’ve been going through for at least the last 1/2 decade. I used to have hope that it would end at some point. Now I don’t even care anymore. I am sorry I haven’t been around to your blogs for the last few days. I likely won’t have time before Wednesday night, but as soon as I can, I will be around to see what you’ve been up to. It is nice to at least see that some people are enjoying their lives, and I can live vicariously through you.  ;-)

M.


the trouble with crying

In the 3 years I’ve known the Lt Col, I’ve only cried once. Really cried, I mean. And that was sometime during the second year, when Pooh-bear’s health had deteriorated to the point that I’d had to spend every possible minute looking after her. I was exhausted and the only thing I was looking forward to, was being able to die someday. I mean that in the literal sense, by the way. One day during a session, I was so exhausted (physically, mentally,  emotionally) that I just broke down and cried for nearly the entire session — and I’m talking full on sobbing, not just the occasional stream of tears.

He was visibly surprised to see this, because the most he’d ever seen was a mild tearing up, which I’d quickly quelled. That was during a discussion about something my mother had done, which I may or may not blog about at some point. But generally speaking, I don’t tear up during sessions about anything, let alone start sobbing. I never cried when talking about being raped by the Serbian, nor the air force asshole. I did cry during a session a few weeks after Pooh-bear died, but only briefly. (That’s not to say I didn’t cry at home — I was pretty hysterical about that for the next few months and cried almost every day in private.)

But I do not cry in front of people unless something extreme is happening at that moment in time and, even then, it’s still highly unlikely that I would actually *cry*.

Sometime during the second year, the Lt Col asked me why I found the idea of crying in front of him to be so disconcerting and disturbing. I honestly didn’t have an answer right away, and had to think about it. After a few minutes of contemplation, I’d told him that it wasn’t that I didn’t *want* to cry. I would guess I feel the urge to cry more frequently than the average person, because I am extremely sensitive and insecure on the inside. Outwardly, however, I go to great lengths to avoid showing this side of myself to others.

Again, the Lt Col asked me why, and eventually I realized it was likely due to one of my mother’s disciplinary methods. My mother wasn’t the most traditional mother in America and her punishments tended to reflect that. Bear in mind that she was usually very high and I’m sure this had an impact on her unusual parenting style.  She was also a genuine Sadist, and not only enjoyed inflicting pain, but also derived sexual gratification from it. A bit further down in this post, I will briefly touch on something that may be disturbing for some. I am not so bothered by it anymore, however, and if this was as far as it had gone, I’d probably be a very different person today.

As you may or may not already know, my mother had some anger issues. You name it, it pissed her off to the nth degree. When in that state, she couldn’t control herself. Her face would contort into something I’ve never seen elsewhere, although demonically possessed persons in horror flicks do come close at times. She would growl like a wild, rabid beast and then attack from all sides at the same time. She was a skilled boxer (I’ve seen her knock men out cold) and would punch, slap, kick, push and shove successively. If she knocked you down, she’d haul you back up and continue.

As a child, I was terrified of her. When I was really small, just one look was enough to scare me so badly that I would vomit. (Thankfully, I outgrew that reflex at some point.) Running to another part of the house was futile: I hid under my bed once and she literally kicked it apart because she couldn’t get at me underneath it. Then she beat the shit out of me for making her break the bed and I only had a mattress from then on. Not that it mattered much, since I’ve always had major issues with beds. Another time, I’d locked myself in my room, but she (again, literally) kicked the door down. And then beat the shit out of me for making her do it. Never had a door again after that.

So, even though it was difficult to stand and face her rage, I had learned that running away from her would only result in something far worse. While in that frame of mind, I would feel so helpless that I would just start crying. Some of that was fear-based, some of it was out of frustration over not being able to defend myself against her. She was just too big and too strong. Once the beatings would start, the sudden onslaught of pain would lead to my becoming hysterical. Crying, screaming, begging, you name it. Anything to make it stop.

It would continue for a time, and then at some point she would switch gears and focus on slapping. I would already have been crying to the point of hyperventilation by this time, and my vision would have been totally blurred from all the tears. The slapping was very, very hard and stung like a motherfucker. Even if such a slap wouldn’t cause direct pain in someone else, I suspect the eyes would reflexively respond with (at least) marginal tearing in most people. And that is precisely why she did it — because it was so hard to shut that off.

She would slap me while I was crying and then, with an evil smile and a mocking sing-song tone, she’d chant, “Don’t cry…” over and over again.

Even after I’d gotten used to this particular form of punishment and had time to prepare myself for it, I was never quite able to get a grip on the crying for the first 20 slaps or so. They just stung too damned much, and I was a total pussy. After every slap, there would be a 10 or 20 second interval, during which she would smile a terrifying smile and dig her nails more deeply into whatever part of my body she was anchoring me with at that particular moment. She always looked as though she was both enjoying and hating the experience at the same time.

She would pant and make strange noises during these episodes. I never quite figured out what they were exactly but, in retrospect, I suppose it may have been something to do with sexual arousal. I say this because, after I’d eventually manage to stop crying during any given punishment, she would drag me into her bedroom and make me stand next to her bed while she used a vibrator. Sometimes she would make me take Polaroids of her using it. When she was done with the vibrator, she would give it to me to put back in her drawer. Then she’d shoot up and pass out for hours and hours.

Again, this wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever experienced with her. I’m just blogging about my history here; I am not upset about this stuff.

Eventually, I managed to shut off the crying mechanism completely. This pissed her off and she moved on to more varied forms of punishment. The whole crying thing stayed switched off for a very long time, both when in private and when around others. In my 20s, that changed a bit, in that I could cry in private, but it was quite a rare thing as I wasn’t so attuned to my feelings back then. When I met the Professor, there was so much stress surrounding that relationship that I simply couldn’t cope with, and I cried a bit more frequently, though by no means often, and only out of extreme fear.

That is pretty much how I am today, as well. The difference is, I am more in touch with my emotions now, particularly after these 3 years of therapy, and I *want* to cry about some things. But I still can’t do it in front of anyone. Not even the Lt Col, and not even if I want to. He knows me well enough to know that I *want* to cry sometimes, but I just don’t. It’s not that I don’t feel comfortable around him; I do. Obviously. I just can’t cry in front of him. Thus far, my excuse has been that I don’t want to fuck my makeup up. (That, and my nose gets all red when I cry and stays that way for hours!) But he knows that is bullshit.

In the meantime, I guess those who know me will have to carry on thinking I’m incapable of anything beyond surface level emotions.

M.


3 weeks gone, finally!

I’m a little tipsy at the moment, so I apologize in advance if any of this sounds less than intelligible. Not that what I usually write sounds all that articulate (see, I’m so drunk that I’m doing one of my pet peeves and using that word as though one can write in an articulate manner!), but I’m just sayin’. I’m not completely wasted, but I’m having to rewrite every sentence several times over, so that’s my excuse. I’m going to hop around to several topics today, because I don’t have the energy to be dark and dreary at the moment and focus on any one thing in particular.

To start, I saw the Lt Col today and I was so happy to see him. OMFG I really missed him, it was maddening. I hadn’t seen him for 3 weeks and that sucked. For some reason, most of our session was focused on sexual domination. Sex comes up a lot, since I’ve got so many issues revolving around it, but we haven’t had such an in-depth BDSM type discussion for about a year now. We also discussed whether or not I still wanted to go home to the USA. After the 90 minutes was up, it seemed as though we both thought going back to the USA would be a senseless exercise in futility.

Why?

Well, over the last month or two, I’ve spent a lot of time examining my reasons for wanting to go home. When I’d first told the Lt Col about it, he’d seemed stunned. I could tell he didn’t think it was a good idea, that I was being impulsive, but he didn’t try to talk me out of it. But I know him well enough to know he’d wanted to, because he felt it would be a massive mistake. Not simply because the impulse came on so suddenly, but also because the possibility of staying with my mother for an indefinite period of time was a major factor.

He was very adamant about insisting I not stay with her under any circumstances. I could see his point, but I felt that I could handle it if I wanted to home badly enough. But that was a new feeling, as I’d never missed the USA once during the 11 years I’ve been here in Oz, but part of that was due to having been in survival mode for 10.5 of those years and not having time to think about how I really felt about living here. So today he was visibly relieved when I told him I was no longer feeling such a strong desire to go home.

His point was valid when he’d said that, if my main reason behind going home was to find a Master, and if I ended up not finding Him, I’d only end up being furious with myself and then spiral back down into a depression that could be worse than what I went through earlier this year when Pooh-bear died. He’s right — there is no guarantee I’d find anyone suitable. And I don’t want to live with my mother if that can be avoided. And I have no idea where I’d like to live, because I don’t really feel like I belong to any state in particular (I left mine when I was a teenager and never looked back).

We discussed the men from Oz and I asked him how many truly dominant men he knew here. He thought about it and could only come up with a handful. He said I was right; most men from Oz were quite passive (although he didn’t agree that most of them were submissives, as I’d claimed).  But he thought I could find one somehow. Our session ended before I could bring up the idea of hooking me up. He’d seemed to be offering that once, but I’d changed the topic. I will bring that up next time and see what he says.

In other news, I asked him to look into a job for me, working for the army. In Oz, it isn’t what you know, but who you know, that gets you a job and the Lt Col has a lot of friends. If a Lt Col can’t get me a job with the army, I don’t think anyone else would be able to either. But if I am going to stay here (I’m not 100% sure of what I’m going to do yet), I need a big change. And working for the army would at least put me in contact with my type of man and increase my odds of finding someone like Sniper — minus the masochistic streak.

The Lt Col insisted again today that I should stay away from soldiers, but what can I say? It’s a fetish.

I won’t see him for another 2 weeks because he’s off to another military conference, which sucks.  When I’d met him, he was a major and didn’t get sent away so often. Ever since he became a Lt Col, he seems to have to travel around a lot more. He hates it, and so do I. But I guess I should be happy that it’s not another 3 weeks without him, because that 3 weeks was the most difficult I can remember for a long time. But I’d felt pretty good by the end of our session, and I’m happy I saw him, because I know that was a big part of the improvement in my mood.

With regards to the Lawyer… Meh, I have no idea what that was. We met up near a metro station and spent 30 minutes walking around looking for a bar that had a free table. 30 minutes! Then we went inside, I paid him what was due for his services, he bought me 2 drinks and asked me some questions like: Do you have a boyfriend, family here in Oz? Are you going back to your old career, or are you really retired? Do you like the part of Oz you live in? Have you ever dated any men from Oz? Mind, these questions were carefully placed between benign questions like, “It’s getting cold, do you enjoy the winter?”

He’d sat next to me in a booth, which made me uncomfortable. I prefer to face someone I don’t know that well. I know men from Oz sit that way when they are out on dates, as both Sniper and Shooter did that with me… but those were obvious dates. I’m still not sure what the hell this was supposed to be. And most of the time the Lawyer just sat there in silence, sometimes even looking as though he was bored and staring off into space. So I asked him — Are you bored? Should we call it a night?

The Lawyer looked somewhat chagrined and said he’s a listener. He likes to listen to people’s answers and then ask more questions. I reminded him that I was not on the stand and didn’t want to have a one-sided conversation. I was polite about it — hell, I was pretty drunk by then — and then his phone rang. He’d had plans to meet up with friends later and that was why he’d originally wanted to meet on Friday (but I hadn’t wanted to). So he paid for the drinks and walked me to the tram stop. He kissed me goodbye on the cheek and asked if I’d like to go out to see some live music some time.

I told him that if he wanted to go out sometime, he could call me. He said ok, and then went to catch a tram in the opposite direction. The entire way home I just kept thinking, WTF was that? But honestly, it doesn’t matter; I really don’t think I’m sexually attracted to him. That said, he’s not as tall or skinny as I’d thought. And he actually does seem a bit dominant and is certainly a gentleman. But he’s still 35, looks 20, and his braces make him look even younger. Plus, that kind of silence was unnerving and I didn’t enjoy it.  So, um, yeah; I don’t think there’s going to be a second night out with the Lawyer.

And now, I’m going to sleep some of these cocktails off and then I will be round to visit y’alls blogs!

M.


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