I had a crappy morning.  I woke up with that non-specific anxiety I sometimes have–that I usually associate with subdrop, but which isn’t possible to have since I’ve done NOTHING kinky for weeks–and just feeling down.

Of course the fact that I have been eating like a PIG and bad bad BAD food for the past week, haven’t run or even moved very much all week, am having to leave the hair on my legs and cooch to grow out (so I can get them waxed), leaving me feeling like Lady Sasquatch, and have massive roots showing through in my hair, could all have something to do with it.

Seriously, I have to get my eating under control.  Today has been a good day–so far.  There’s still plenty of time to fuck that up though.

Cupcake, anyone?

Really I should be feeling great. W and I proved that we are getting better at this whole long distance communication thing by resolving a potentially uncomfortable situation immediately and with very little fuss last night.  He simply said in chat: “Call me,” when he realized I was upset. I logged off and for a heartbeat considered not picking up the phone. I was feeling small and embarrassed and like a big screw-up, like I’d overstepped in some huge way, and wanted to hide rather than talk about it.

That wouldn’t have done either of us any good, though, so I picked up the phone and we talked it through and he helped me to realize that I hadn’t overstepped, far from it in fact.  So all was good.  It still amazes me how easily I fall into that same pattern of thinking though, of being sure that I am unwanted, of feeling rejected, or that I have overstepped.

What happened is that acquaintances of ours had emailed that they were coming into town for an event that W, Ad and I are attending. In previous conversations, they had invited us to stay with them if we ever got out their way, and we had invited them to stay with us, though neither of those things had happened yet. Well, now it was, and they wanted to know if the offer of someplace to crash was still open. Of course it was! I assured them, and told them that there was plenty of room at W’s, if they didn’t mind that it is under renovation, etc. He and I have been wanting to get to know them better, and had spoken of throwing a party and inviting them down for the weekend, so I knew he’d be thrilled.

And…he was. But he was also pragmatic and practical, and mentioned that he was getting home Thursday night and needed to get a hair cut Friday and he had no idea what shape the house was in for their arrival…whenever they were getting in…

It felt like he was unhappy that I had offered them his home.  I was hurt, and felt as if I’d overstepped, and assumed too much. It’s his home, his space, his time.  I had just treated it like it was ours.  I had fully intended to go over and clean house before he got home anyway, change the sheets, make the bed, etc., and when I offered our friends to stay over I was thinking in those terms.  As though it was my space too. I was planning to go to the grocer and pick up soda and beer, some wine and munchies, breakfast food, etc., bring over a set of clean sheets, pillows and blankets for them, and do whatever else would need doing to make them comfortable. But of course those weren’t my things to do, it wasn’t my decision to make…

I was nearly in tears in embarrassment and mortification that I had acted like it was.

He assured me that I had done right, and exactly as he would have wanted, and that he was thrilled.  It took me a while to truly believe him, but eventually I got there.

The most wonderful part of the conversation, though, the part that I will remember, was when we had gotten past all that and were talking logistics.  “Do we want to make up the bed for them downstairs, or give them our bed?” he said.  He actually said that!  Called his bed “ours.”

So see? I should be very happy today, not feeling down.

I’m trying.

Here’s something funny. I went to the dentist last week. While there, we talked about flossing, which I hate to do, but always promise to do, and then don’t follow through. This time, though, he asked if I’d like his hygienist to show me how to floss correctly. Seriously? I know how to floss, I thought, I just don’t like to.  Then I got to thinking…maybe I don’t know how to do it right. It’s been what, 30 years since I was shown how to do it? I’ll bet flossing methods have changed drastically!  Look at all the other changes in the world! So I accepted.

I am pleased to say that flossing, and the methods thereof, have not changed one iota since I was a kid.

And I still don’t like to do it.  But I’m going to this time!  Really I am!

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