I promised last time that I'd explain life. I decided to name this entry something appropriate. I did. It fits what I've been doing lately.

The boy on pot is a HAPPY thing... all giggly and distractable. Cuddly. Silly. Hyper. So full of knowledge that he just has to explain, then explain again in case I didn't understand the first time... at which point he forgets that he's explained it twice, starts to explain a third time, then gets distracted completely and discovers some NEW bit of knowledge, Often involving his cock, or styrofoam, or fur. *grin*

It was very amusing.

And then life got interesting... remember my hundreds of promises to the effect that I would never let my kitten go Dom, never really allow him more than a taste of that, that he was to remain 100% submissive one way or another?

*sheepish look* Splits.

Forgot to take those into account.

Didn't WANT to take those into account.

Didn't expect... well, never mind what I didn't expect. Although I will say one unexpected thing was that last night, which ~I~ spent in a cage, is the only night in quite a while where I haven't dreamed about Angel. It was a nice break.

Ended up taking a nap earlier.. a multi-hour nap... and dreamed of her again. Dreamed of how she looks now. Of her eyes, those horrible wonderful eyes. Dreamed about being on the coast, talking with my folks - they were going to hire someone to do computer work for them. They had her there, interviewing her... Kadin and I were in the next room, talking. I knew her, he didn't know who she was, but he looked at her eyes and he hugged me and said "That's Angel, isn't it?"

I nodded. Walked off with her, feeling him following me, following us. Talked. Spent hours talking... not about anything specific. Not about anything important. Just... talking. Speaking because we were already communicating another way, the sound of our voices was a mask.

Just another mask.

I wear so many... why would I need that one? Oh, yeah... people tend to get a bit upset when they realize you're holding a huge conversation with someone and not speaking at all - Grr, you are an exception. You're used to it. Most people aren't, which is silly.

Anyway. Dreams.

No... not dreams. Was talking about splits. About last night. Apparently I want to NOT talk about it - not too surprising. I, the usual normal parts of me, the more complete me, was not there. Crixa... remember that name? Yeah. Rediscovered, you could say. He still hasn't touched Alice-Joy-Kali'cu... she's busy. Busy hiding, mostly. She's... I don't know why she is afraid. I have NO idea. It's not because she thinks she will be hurt, not because she thinks it's wrong... hm. I'll figure this out in another place.

For now... let me say with certainty that when I was talking previously about bait, I knew what I was saying.

And it's NICE to have it happen on purpose.

It's a blissful, pleasant, wonderful, sweet, refreshing change, to know that at least this time I'll be willing to accept it.

That maybe I can reverse it if/when I need to.

He's not TOO fragmented yet...

...and Caleb is wonderful. The boy actually slept on the sofa, not interfering, not stopping or interrupting, simply letting it happen. He knows what that side of me needs - doesn't give it to me, can't give it to me, it's not in him anywhere. Kadin, though... no. Not Kadin. Not kitten. Not Kaine. Something else.

*sudden amusement*

Something as nameless as Crixa is now. I think that explains FAR more than it should. He's got titles. Nicknames. He's got things he goes by.

But no name.

I think... I think he is so kind to her because he is as much a slave as any other part of the boy could ever be, but he hides it. He fights it. He's the part of the boy that honestly doesn't WANT to serve in any sense, not if it's forced. He wants to help. Wants to heal. And he wants to hurt as well, the sweet satisfaction that comes when you not only cause pain, but see it become pleasure as well.

He understands.

Not everything... not yet... but he does understand. It's a pleasant change. Keep in mind that there are a LOT of people who do understand bits of me - you know who you are, kiddies - but... this is different. At least it seems different right now when I'm still a bit buzzed from last night, when I'm tired and have a full tummy, when I'm dealing with cramps and PMS, when I'm in the middle of a depressive swing.

I'm writing pretty much free-flow at this point, tempted to work on Songbird... but I need to call my mother and do some useful stuff. I'd much rather curl up and pet my slave boy, or see if last night was merely a fluke, or go pick blackberries, or get stoned again, or ANYTHING that doesn't involve the real, boring world.

I don't particularly like that world right now. That world is politely informing me that I'm getting another infection. Wheee. *sigh*

Anyway. More news. I know there was more. Oh, yeah... Slash and I sort-of were at outs, mostly because he thought that I was angry at him for doing evil horrible things... and I didn't even know what the HELL he was talking about. I'm not angry at him, I'm not mad at him, or irritated, or anything... he did NOT upset me. *sigh* He's silly.

Not a bad silly, exactly... just... gah. Every now and then I want to pet him, feed him chocolate, and put him to bed. THAT kind of silly.

Portishead. Letting the music fit again, that's what I'm doing. "Glory Box" - have I quoted this yet?

"I'm so tired of playing / playing with this bo..." ...started to type 'bow', typed 'boy' instead. I think I'll continue that...

"I'm so tired of playing / playing with this boy and his mind / I'm gonna give my heart away / leave it to the other splits to play / for I've been a temptress too long / just / give me a reason to love you / give me a reason to be a woman / I just want to be a woman..."

There we go. *wry grin*

Now it fits even better.

Frightening.

You know, by now I should have found some way to stop this spiral, to fix it so it doesn't just keep going round and round and round and down... but I haven't. The only way to make it stop is to balance it out, and I can't do that for myself, not at this point. All I can do is pour out the words onto the page and hope that it's enough to hold me until I can convince someone to give me what I need.

What I need.

Odd phrase, that. I could, technically, survive without it. I could exist without it. Happy? No. Content? Gods, no. Satisfied, comfortable, OK? Not on your life. But I could, technically, manage without.

It still feels like need, though. Anything that without it, I am constantly unbalanced, miserable, hateful, hurting, frustrated, and generally pissed off... I think I need it.

Addiction's a fun word, isn't it?

And apparently my bait works as well on me as it does on anyone else. Wheee. It's nice to know that I'm still just as much of an idiot as I ever was... dammit Rhett, why aren't you online?

I need a bit of the bloodthirsty, violent reality you're so good at shaping... and I'd like it without as much pain as it's going to give me if I form it here. *sighs softly*

Eh.

Fuck it.

Fuck it ALL.