Lies & Infidelities

August 14, 2011

I just got back from staying over at my mom’s house.  I love hanging with my mom. She’s getting more and more…addled…finally, at 75, beginning to show her age, but she is sweet, and kind, and loving, and every time I am there I wish she lived right here in our condo complex so I could see her more often.

Instead, she lives in the subdivision where my sister, T, lives, one block away from her, her husband and their little boy. My mom is lucky if she sees T once a month, and usually it is only an obviously obligatory visit.

My sister is not kind, or sweet, or loving.

Lately when I talk to my parents, I have been deliberate in bringing up W in the conversation. Not in an “in your face” way, but just as I do in every day conversation with anyone else. I don’t insert him into the conversation, but if it is natural to mention him or something he and I have done, I don’t circle around it, I don’t equivocate.  I say his name, I mention whatever-it-is and I move on. I want them to get used to hearing about him, and to begin seeing him as a part of my life.

This weekend, while out with my mom, I finally came clean on who this “W” fella really is to me.

My mom knows I am poly, and has known since I told her during my split with my Ex.  I knew that she had a lot of admiration for the Ex and liked him a lot, and I didn’t want our breaking up to destroy that. It’s too easy to want to attach all blame for a break-up on the partner that isn’t your family, and, especially as it was me that precipitated the split, I didn’t want my mom to think badly of him. So she knew that Ad and I have an open relationship, but she never met any of my other partners, or even heard about them. Why should she? I didn’t have any committed partners before W.

But it’s been three years now with W, and, frankly, I just wanted to not to have to mince around who exactly this “W” person is in my life. I wasn’t committed to telling her this weekend, I didn’t head out to visit her intending to come clean, but, when the opportunity accidentally presented itself, I took it.

Here’s the deal. My sister’s marriage is falling apart. Or has already, and the only reason they stay together is because they “can’t afford” to split up. Meanwhile, they buy cars, go on separate vacations, presumably drive up their credit card debt–and live in a  state of barely-concealed warfare, sniping and biting at each other, visiting petty cruelties upon the other and crowing about it behind each other’s backs, all the while acting like they are being “civilized” and doing it all “for their son’s sake.”  It’s enough to make me sick. It makes me so sad to see my sister so bitter and unhappy and to see that same resignation and joylessness reflected on her husband’s face.

And yet.

This is the sister that, when my marriage was ending and I told her about me being poly said to me, “Why do you always have to do things your way, Jade? Can’t you just be like normal people? Can’t you just have an affair??”

She truly thought that having an affair was morally superior to being in an open marriage or relationship. She also thought it was a lot smarter, since everyone knows an open relationship can’t work–and wasn’t I proof, as my marriage was a failure because of it?  (I could never convince her of the wrongness of that statement: I never considered my marriage a failure.  But that is perhaps for a different post.) Stay married and have an affair, and you don’t have to give up your big house, your fancy cars, your credit cards–your things.  But what about your soul? What about love and joy and morality and ethics and your sense of decency?

Uh-huh.  I see how well that worked for her.  Because that is why she and her husband are in the place they are.  She had affairs, he found out. She went to “counseling,” confessed her sins, swore never to do it again…and smirked about pulling the wool over his eyes as she headed out to another of her trysts. Well, it didn’t stay pulled, and now they are in the situation they are in.

What a sad, ugly life.

But what really bothered me was my mother going on and on about what a bastard my sister’s husband is for “throwing her out of the bedroom,” for “cutting her off” financially (he split the bills and she has to pay her own bills and he his) and for treating her “unkindly.”

Look, the guy is no peach. I couldn’t live with him. But I didn’t choose him. He never lied to her or cheated on her.  He may be as slow and dumb as a box of rocks, but he took care of her, he bought her ever-increasingly larger houses and nicer cars, he moved clear across the country, away from a hometown he had loved and never wanted to leave to be with her.  He gave what he had to give.  And she chose to lie and cheat and laugh at him behind his back when he didn’t see it.  And when he did see it, and he still wanted to be with her, to work it out, instead of either a) owning up and changing her behavior, or b) letting him go so that maybe he could find happiness with someone else that could be happy with him, she lied again and started it all over. Only this time she despises him for taking her back, as well; for allowing himself to be used.

She deserves every bit of contempt he levels at her.  And he doesn’t deserve my parent’s contempt.

But they only see what my sister has shown them; they can only believe the sob story my sister tells them. It’s repugnant, and…I finally got fed up with it.  I did something I am sure I will regret: I told my mother the real reason their marriage is on the rocks. Oh, not the fullness of my sister’s lies and infidelities. In fact I made no mention of her continued affairs. I only said that perhaps B had a reason to be “unkind.”  That she had had an affair (“an” affair? try dozens) and he had found out. That maybe my sister was skewing the story a bit.

I’m not sure how the conversation went from my sister’s infidelities to W, but it did. Maybe I was trying to juxtapose what a farce her “arrangement” was with something healthy, and vital, and good. Whatever my original motivation was (okay yeah, my motives may not have been pure, maybe I did want to show her up a little) by spotlighting a lifestyle that, for a 75 yr old woman, would have to seem untenable at best, immoral at worst. But she took it all in stride (she’s something else, my mama.) I guess having softened her up 5 years or so ago with the confession of being in an open relationship in the first place made it not such a shock to her. The fact that it has lasted 3 years was a bit of a shock: “You’ve been with someone for three years and never told me, never introduced me?!?” So I had to take my lumps for that.  But for the most part, since I’m happy, Ad’s happy, my kids are happy and she assumes W is happy–it’s all good.

Oh, except for one more thing. When I told her W’s name, she said, “This is a man?”

I’d forgotten I had also confessed to being bisexual at some point a couple years ago.  Oops.

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Cruise Wrap-Up, Days 4-5

August 6, 2011

So where did I leave off, all those days ago? (I can’t believe the last time I posted here was, sheesh, June?  Seriously??  I’d apologize for being so lame, but, hell, that’s my life. Sometimes I am living too much to write about it.)

Anyhoo…there we were at Lamanai. (In case you forgot.)  And then…we were back on the ship.

And…hell, lots of things happened. But I can’t remember all of them now, because I was a bad blogger and I didn’t take notes.  (Sigh.)  I’d like to say I’ll do better, but honestly, I don’t know if I will. So I can’t promise. Instead I’ll just post some pics from the trip, with a few notes here and there, and we’ll call it a day.

Cruise Day 4

That night was the only night we ended up on deck, oddly enough. It's windy out there, tho, so maybe that makes sense.

Ad and I on the cruise

We played like a regular couple...

Bite on the cruise

Except I was a couple with two men. :-)

Tying on the cruise

Of course we had to play a *little*...

And maybe just a tiny bit more.

There were other ways to play, too. They wouldn't let me go up naked though.

The next day was a day at sea, and we hung out on the pool deck, naked, for most of the day. Not a bad way to spend a day. But I had to put clothes back on to climb the rock wall.

So did Ad.

Ad at the top.

Me ringing the bell.

Woot!  I'm so freakin awesome!

Woot! I'm so freakin awesome!

I was pretty happy.

But now, seriously? Let me outta these clothes!

We also played other ways.

And played like pirates on Pirate Night.

The last night was Blue Night. The red dress was Ad's present to me at Christmas just for this cruise. And oh, yeah, the decor very much reflected the whole atmosphere of the cruise!

One last time to be "dancing girl" before we returned to "real life."

And finally--on the way home. We were sad, but we'd had a marvelous time!


Outsider

June 15, 2011

Sometimes I still feel like the outsider on the sidelines, always looking in, never one of the “in” crowd, never invited to “play in any reindeer games.” I watch as people interact around me, form their groups, their cliques, their friendships, at times tentatively, hesitantly, reaching out, only to feel rebuffed or ignored once again.  I know this isn’t the case, and I have heard so many times that you just have to be a part and join in, but…these feelings don’t live in the rational part of my brain.  They’re hardcoded in somewhere else, somewhere that my rational thoughts have little access to.

I do keep trying to untangle the coding though.

It’s a leftover from my childhood, I’m sure, from having been one of those kids that never quite fit in and was too shy to try-and so afraid of rejection if she did that it was just better not to, to claim that she didn’t want to be invited, didn’t want to be a part, was fine on her own.

I have read that this is a common reaction/trait of people that move around a lot as children. Being the child of a railroad worker, we moved every year or so, and although I have lived in St. Louis for more than 20 years now, I still feel unrooted.  When people talk about having a “hometown,” or “going home,” I can’t relate. The last home I lived in with my parents they’ve long since moved out of, and I was only there for three years of my life anyway. What kind of roots can grow in that amount of time?  Still, when I watched a video recently of a locomotive taking the tracks near where I spent those years, I did feel a sense of…something. Homesickness?  Loss? Nostalgia, maybe.  It was hard to define.  But even as I felt it I wondered if they were manufactured feelings.  I’d never felt I was leaving my home when I left, never felt a part of that small, tight-knit mountain community when I was there, and didn’t miss it in the years since.  As with many small towns, I could have lived there for twenty years and still been considered the “outsider,” and was never fully embraced or taken in by the locals.  Perhaps that sharp bite of longing I’d felt as I watched the video, as I walked around the railyard where W and I looked at the steam locomotive, was merely wishful longing on my part–a wish that I did feel homesickness. That I had a place that I could be homesick for.

I married a man for his roots, thinking they’d reach out and entangle me–and that I’d be happy that way: rooted down, captured.  I wasn’t, though perhaps if his family had treated me as more than an outsider, if they had welcomed me, I might have been.  It’s hard to say, now, although knowing myself as well as I do, and if I am looking back with honesty and not with wishful “might-have-beens,” I know that I would not have been happy no matter how they treated me. Wanderlust and rootlessness, that restless gene, is too deeply seated in me, too much a part of my psyche, as is my fear of rejection.

And perhaps, because of that, I caused my own ostracization. Perhaps I held myself aloof, just as I did as a child, withdrawing rather than risking rejection.

Perhaps I do so even now.

All these petty fears and insecurities.  How to shed them, how to throw off the shackles that they bind me with?  I admit it, I am not “fine on my own.”  I don’t want to spend my life feeling like an outsider.  I want to be accepted and loved and welcomed, I want to be a part of something greater than myself–I want to fit in.

Pitiful, ain’t it?


Acceptance

May 31, 2011

Woke this morning with a migraine trying to assert itself.  Sharp pinpoint of pain right above my left eye.  I think I caught it in time, though migraine meds on an empty stomach don’t sit too well either.

Sigh.  I had so many things I wanted to say! And now…my head is just a muddle between pain medication and migraine. (sad face)  I will try to persevere.

I had an awesome weekend, and in honor of it, I have begun a campaign to designate the Sunday before Memorial Day “National Bondage Day.”  Mark it on your calendars, folks!  I should have a post over on PoJ later today or tomorrow all about my playdate with Jessica Simpson, Steve Madden, my two guys–and a lot of rope. ;-)

I had some interesting insights and discoveries into myself this weekend as well. Nothing too deep or earth-shattering, but…interesting. One of them helps me understand some of the decisions I’ve made in my life. The other is more of a “growth” thing.  The growing part I think I’ll address over in my PoJ post, but the other is more suitable to this space, I think.

So the deal is this. W and I were discussing relationship dynamics. Specifically, 24/7 M/s or O/p relationships, as opposed to our own dynamic. I am sexually submissive to W, and that bleeds over, because of my personal mental/emotional makeup, into other areas of our relationship, and I do consider the relationship of the Owner/property category–he owns and controls my sex life. This dynamic is much deeper and more internalized for me than him, I think, again because of my particular emotional makeup, but he totally gets it.  He said something very perceptive the other day. “I think if I’d been the kind of Top that wanted to control your life more, you would have responded to that and become more of a submissive in everyday life as well.” He’s exactly correct, I think–and in an interesting dichotomy, I think it is precisely because I am a submissive at heart that, rather than seeking out another relationship that would satisfy that need in me, instead I molded myself and my own desires to my Dominant’s. It is a testament both to my own self-awareness and to W’s relationship skills that we were able to recognize that I do need some balance between the two extremes, and he was able (and willing) to explore that dynamic on at least some levels more with me, in order to assure that those needs are met as well.

But I digress a bit. To continue on with my original point (see, I DO have lots in my head this morning!)

The reason that W and I aren’t in a more “traditional” M/s style relationship boils down, essentially, to one simple fact: neither of us wants to work that hard. We do this because it brings us pleasure, it makes us hot and it leads to some crazy hot sex.

Now, I understand that for many people, it is in the act of self-sacrifice, it is in doing something difficult, and doing it well, that they derive pleasure. For many people, it is the hard work that makes a thing worthwhile.  I get that and respect that–immensely.

But that’s just not me.  Furthermore, that trait informs not only my BDSM-relationship style, but also many, many other areas of my life, if not all of them.  It wasn’t until W and I were talking about it that I put it all together tho, and made the connection.

It came about because we were trying to draw an analogy from vanilla life to WIITWD and the different dynamics. What we came up with is the comparison between an athlete that runs marathons and one that does 5k’s.  Or, to personalize it, someone like me, that runs ~3 miles, max, and has no desire to run further, because after that, it gets hard, and I just don’t want to work that hard. I run because it is a pleasure, a joy, but once it starts hurting and getting to be a chore, once it becomes work–forget it.  That’s why it is so hard to get myself to restart running consistently, because that first mile of every run sucks.  I hate every minute of it. But if I can just get past that to the other side, the pure pleasure of feeling my body move, of feeling it do what it’s meant to do, of feeling, for that tiny amount of time, “athletic,” well, then it is no longer work. Or if it is, the cost/benefit ratio tilts heavily in favor of benefit, and I am willing to pay the cost.

But honestly, it takes a lot to tip the scales in that analysis, and to be blunt, most things that are hard or difficult or make me miserable in the doing of them just don’t have that big a benefit to warrant me doing them.

It’s easy to see how not living an M/s relationship 24/7 fits into that.  Being a slave is hard, and more about sacrificing one’s own wants to another than engaging in it for one’s pleasure. But it wasn’t until I turned the idea over in my head that I recognized how many other places in my life this has had an impact.

For instance, school.  I love to take classes. If I could afford it, I’d probably take a class every semester. But as deep as my love of learning goes, and as many college credits as I have, I’ve NEVER completed a degree.  Not because I can’t, nor even because I don’t want to, but because, frankly, it’s a lot of work! There are classes I have to take that I just don’t want to. And frankly, sometimes even classes I enjoy get to be a drag after 3 months, so I stop going. But given the appropriate cost/benefit ratio, and yes…I’ll do it. For instance, that fucking math class. The benefit–a feeling of accomplishment in the face of adversity, the knowledge that W and Ad would be proud of me, and the knowledge that I would be setting a good example for my kids–became a huge benefit, enough, finally, to force me past my fear of failure, past my desire to take the easy way, and on to finally finishing the class.

That feeling of accomplishment–of forcing myself to do something I am afraid of–is actually quite a strong motivator on the “benefit” side of things, btw. It made me take a job as a waitress when I was so shy I could barely walk into a room alone. It made me hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, knowing that at the bottom was a scary-ass suspension bridge over the Colorado River that I’d have to walk over. It made me take a bus with 50 other women I didn’t know to Washington DC for the march for freedom of choice, and to stand up on that same bus and tell the story of the abortion I had chosen to have, something I had never told anyone else.  It’s what made me start running in the first place, what made me climb the rock wall and to the top of the High Temple on our cruise.  It led me to offer to take on countless jobs, including the one I am in now, without knowing I actually had the skills to cut it.  It’s what drives me to explore the intersection between pain and pleasure, and why I seek out some of the more extreme corners of that kind of play at times.

On the other hand, the desire for pleasure, for experiencing joy, led me to choosing to end my marriage of 15 years. It led me to conquer my fear of being rejected and made me reach out to a stranger–W–on Fetlife. It’s led me to cut toxic people from my life and to choose to take my children on trips rather than to buy a new car. It’s allowed me to accept that maybe I won’t finish that novel (just too hard to do) but to accept the joy I find in writing here and on PoJ and in writing short stories.

On the other hand, this very trait has cost me at times as well. There is no amount of benefit that will ever make me a good wife, housekeeper or cook. I’m a loving partner and a great girlfriend, but domesticity just doesn’t do it for me.

I will probably never be able to afford to retire, because I spend money too freely on transient pleasures.

I will probably never really accomplish anything of true, lasting value or worth. That novel? Ain’t gonna happen. The half-marathon I want to do? Nope. Get a degree and get an important job? Not so much.  I probably won’t become a world-famous blogger or be asked to speak at events or change the world in any large, lasting way.

But…

I’m okay with all this. I am okay with the bad and the good.

I can accept these things about myself.  I can live with–and love–me. Just as I am.


Cruise Wrap-up, Days 2-3, Part 2: Lamanai

May 27, 2011

Welcome to Lamanai-"Submerged Crocodile"!

You really do have to understand a little of the history of Lamanai, and its place in the ancient Mayan world to appreciate the pictures properly.  From NorthernBelize.com:

[Lamanai] thrived for over 3000 years. The city of Lamanai began its regional supremacy around 1500 B.C. Extending from the formative years of the Mayan world to the preaching friars of Spanish colonists, Lamanai flourished and supported a vast community of farmers, merchants, and traders.

Three thousand years! It’s hard to even comprehend a civilization lasting that long.  I sometimes wonder if ours is going to last out the century.

…of the 700 buildings within the complex, less than five percent have been excavated and explored.

At one point the city had ~35,000 inhabitants. After visiting compact Tulum, Lamanai sprawls in the jungle like an ancient equivalent of Los Angeles. It’s hard to grasp the immensity of the site in one abbreviated visit. And what we see as tourists is a drop in the bucket to what’s out there, overtaken by jungle growth.  Everywhere you look there are mounds like the one shown here–this is the debris of hundreds of years covering the buildings that once stood here.

As the Classic Period came to an end in the ninth and tenth centuries, many of the neighboring Mayan cities proceeded through a period of decay to final collapse. Lamanai survived this time of upheaval and continued trade with sites in the northern part of the Yucatan Peninsula on into the Post-Classic Period. Copper, tin, and bronze objects flowed into Lamanai from sources in west Mexico, the Oaxaca Valley, and probably middle Central America.

Lamanai, possibly because of its “out of the way” location, survived while other Mayan cities declined. It wasn’t until the Spaniards arrived in the 1600’s that the fall of Lamanai was finally achieved, mostly through the introduction of disease.  Of course this was all in the name of Christ, because God knows the heathens needed to have their souls saved, right?

If you’re curious to learn more about Lamanai and/or Belize, you can find detailed information and maps about the site here (a different site than NorthernBelize.com), by the way. I printed out a ton of info from that website that I made into a booklet, and it was very helpful.

And now, on to the pictures…

Me playing travel guide.

"You are HERE." Or actually, we were-they let us climb the High Temple.

I love that they added an 's' to "feet."

W as Great White Hunter on the steps leading up to the Jaguar Temple. I may post another picture of him playing Great White Slaver in PoJ later.

Our first view, after a hike thru the jungle, of the Mask Temple.

Back the way we'd come...

Each section is where the new king or regime built atop the old. They didn't destroy their predecessors buildings--they just built right over the top of them.

Mask Temple - full view

I was amazed that they let us climb all over the temples-and pleased. You really couldn't get a sense of scale if you weren't right up next to them.

A short walk brings us to the highest and one of the most important structures at Lamanai, the High Temple.

The High Temple in its entirety. It's hard to see how very tall it is, but at its highest it towered over the jungle at ~112 ft.

That yellow line in the center of the steps is a rope hanging down to aid tourists to climb. That and a “Be careful, if you fall it’s going to hurt!” are about all the cautions a tourist gets.  I love a place where you’re actually responsible for your own actions.

An artist's rendering of the High Temple as it was in its full glory.

Ad going up

It's steep!

Taking a break that the first level. See how tiny those people are down there?

A view from the top.

On a clear day...you can see to Honduras.

The view in the other direction.

And finally, all three of us at the top.

A funny story about the previous picture.  The guide offered to take our pic.  “Yes,” I said, “please!” When we three went to pose by the edge though, he looked at W and said, “Excuse me so I can take their picture,” meaning Ad and I. We all laughed. “Nope, we’re all together,” we said. Later he offered to take another picture, the one you’ll see with me on W’s lap in the boat. Apparently he’d gotten used to the idea that I was with both guys by then.

Climbing back down. It was actually scarier going DOWN than up.

Taking a break in the shade in between the residence area and the ball court that fronts the Jaguar Temple.

In the Ball Court in front of the Jaguar Temple.

You can really tell that the jungle is starting to take over the excavation again. And how this must have looked when the archeologists first discovered it!

Relaxing in the boat on the ride back.

And that’s it for Day 3. Well, except for me dressing up in paint, a sequined g-string and pasties and some rocking high heels–and little else!–for Mardis Gras night…I have a picture around here somewhere…

Oh yes!  Here it is…

And that, my lovelies, concludes our digital tour for the day!


Cruise Wrap-Up, Ship Days 2-3, Part 1

May 25, 2011

Another picture post! We actually took a lot of pictures of our third day, because we went on an excursion to the Mayan ruins at Lamanai (and I forced W to take lots of “vanilla” pics.) ;-)  In fact I have so many pictures that I am going to break them up into two posts.

Day 2 was an “At Sea” day, and for a number of reasons, wasn’t conducive to picture-taking.  The first half of the day we spent on the pool deck, lazing about, sunning ourselves like slothful lizards, drinking like fish and just enjoying being naked on a ship full of sexy, sexual people.  (I LOVED getting to show off my rings.  And did I mention the rubdown that W gave me?  He left not a smidgeon of my naked skin uncovered by sunscreen.  It was amazingly erotic, having his hands all over me–gently!–in front of dozens of people.) But the pool deck was a “no-picture” zone, due to the fact that everyone was half-to-all-the-way-naked, including me.  And sadly, that night I was laid low with my first-ever bout of seasickness.  So Tuesday night was not much fun. But we’d had a great time the night before, so I guess I can’t complain too much.

I don’t think I mentioned what a great time W and I had our first night on the cruise. That night actually spotlights why our “three” works out so well. I had been on a cruise with Ad before, and really loved it, but we didn’t spend one night out past 10 or 11pm.  Ad tends to retire at about that time, and if I don’t have anyone else encouraging me to do otherwise, I’ll snuggle up with him and go to bed then as well. That’s the pattern here at home, as a matter of fact. At home, with Ad, I’ll head into the bedroom with him at 10pm, we’ll talk and snuggle and read for awhile, and I may stay awake doing ‘puter stuff for awhile, but I’m content to be in bed early with him.

W, on the other hand, tends to wake up at about 9 or 10pm, and if he is going to play with me, that’s usually when it starts. So I have no problem staying up with him until 1 or 2 in the morning, and, especially on this cruise, where so much happens at night, I wanted to be awake and out there, enjoying the nightlife. I never would have got to if W hadn’t been there, which would have been a shame.  Or Ad would have felt obligated to escort me, which wouldn’t have worked out for either of us either.  This way, he got to do what he wanted, without feeling guilty about not accompanying me, and I got to do what I wanted, without feeling guilty about leaving him in the room.

Anyway, Monday night that was exactly what we did.  Adam went to bed at about 11 and W and I got gussied up and cruised the ship.  We ended up hanging out at the bar right outside the “swinger playroom” and talked and flirted with people and had drinks–and tried to get my courage up to go inside the playroom–but even without doing that (I never did make it in) we had loads of fun.

Anyway, on to the pictures! (Vanilla ones, how ’bout that?!)

These are from Day 3.  We took an excursion to visit Lamanai, one of the oldest and largest of the Mayan ruins in Belize, which included a ninety minute bus ride and a boat ride on the New River to the New River Lagoon, where the ruins are.  But before we could get on the bus, we had to take a thirty minute tender to Belize itself. If you’ve been following my picture posts on Fetlife, you’ve seen the tenders I’m talking about. ;-)

I love the tender rides from the cruise ship into port, by the way. I see people complaining about how long and boring they are and I am amazed they feel that way. I love the blue, blue water and open sky, watching the ship recede and a new place, a place I’ve never seen before, come into view. I can’t understand how people can sit in their seats and not hang over the side of the boat to watch the land come into view and the city take shape.  I like watching the birds wheel overhead and feeling the salty wind on my face. Maybe I should have been a sailor, huh?

I couldn't stay seated.

Our first view of Belize.

Goofballs on the bus.

The other goofballs.

Safari Girl on the New River

Local fishermen with a turtle they'd caught-and not for a pet!

Another boat of cruise goers on the river.

Spider monkey in a tree.

He came within a few feet of the boat. Our guide had to stop a woman from holding her camera out too far to take a pic: "Don't Mami! He'll snatch it!"

A new definition of the term "batcave."

Ironically, the nicest place we saw on the river was a rehab facility.

First view of Lamanai. You can't see in this picture, and you can't get a real understanding of the immensity of it anyway from a photo, but the tallest temple peeks above the trees.

In my next post we’ll visit Lamanai itself!  Stay tuned. ;-)


Miscellaney on a Tuesday

May 24, 2011

I got in to work and found the phones and internet down, so I’m here at Bread Co. pretending to work working hard. Thought about heading over to W’s, but I’m fairly certain he’d still be asleep, and though I have a key, I still feel a little uncomfortable letting myself in without his pre-knowledge.  He always says it’s okay, but, you know, I wasn’t raised that way. Kinda like people that just “drop by” without calling first: not good manners.

On the other hand, I’d be able to get into Pieces of Jade and Fetlife if I was at his house, which domains Bread Co. blocks.  But hey, I’m supposed to be working, right?

There’s a guy hunched over the table across from me, an array of wordfind puzzle books scattered around him.  He is scowling fiercely, clearly very serious about his hobby. Interesting to me is that he isn’t even pretending to be a patron–he doesn’t even have a black coffee.  And behind me is a table of bible thumpers. Their entire conversation for the past hour has been about God and popes and sin and scripture. Maybe not being able to access Fetlife is a good thing.

I finally got some sleep last night. Drug-induced, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen otherwise. I did only take one pill though, not the two I could have. Taking two produces a coma-like sleep, without dreams, and leaves me feeling as though I’ve “lost time” somehow, a feeling I despise (and thus why I fight so hard against taking sleep meds, until, like yesterday, it becomes imperative to get some solid sleep.)  It was the right decision though. This morning I was able to pop awake (ok maybe not “pop” but something akin to it) at 5am so I could get to the gym by 6am for a class.  The class said it was a Step class, which I’m not wild about (too uncoordinated to do all the fancy step moves) but I am determined to get moving again. It’s been since the week before the cruise that I’ve done anything. In a stroke of luck, though, the class was actually a mix of cardio and weights. We used the step sometimes, but only for basic moves, the rest of the time was were doing various kick-boxing moves, and the weights part was grueling. I cannot believe how quickly I get out of shape. I could barely keep up.

And I loved it. Sweat dripping down my back, muscles screaming, it felt so good.  I definitely feel it in my calves, inner thighs and biceps now.  So I’ve scheduled a massage for this evening. ;-)

Mmm, carmel lattes are my fave.

But now, damn, internet is back up at the office.  Hi ho hi ho, off to work I go…