What's Been Going On.

It isn't so much that I haven't had time to write, or that nothing blogworthy has happened, I just haven't been in the mood. Perhaps one day I'll expand on these notes, or you can always ask me for the story in person, I'm told that I tell the tales of my life well.

--Seduced a seminary student. I thought he was attractive before I understood that he would eventually be a priest, but am I an unhinged pervert for wanting him so much more after I found out?

--Had an intense choking session. It has never been an area of particular interest to me, but it seems I'm a natural.

--One of my favorite clients decided that sessioning with me was tantamount to cheating on his wife and that he could no longer continue deceiving her. I talked him away from the edge of confessing to his wife his addiction to me, but lost him as a client. I've always encouraged him to tell her about his fetish, who knows maybe she'd indulge him. But I find it so sad that he will bottle up everything he has discovered with me.

--Upon receiving the coffeemaker/espresso machine I'd placed on my wishlist, I purchased coffee, milk, sugar, chocolate powder, even a bottle of water in case I didn't like the taste of my tap. My lack of domesticity was proven when I realized that I was still missing some key elements for the perfect mocha, namely mugs and spoons. Also once I'd improvised with pint glasses, one must have dishwashing liquid on hand to do it again.

--the art of dating continues to elude me. Received an email from I guy I crushed madly on several months ago to find that meeting me inspired him to book an appointment with a pro-domme. Um, hello? No, it wasn't with me.

--Immigrant women have now scrubbed my floors twice and I do not care how bourgie it makes me, I love having a cleaning lady.

--After watching the entire first season of Carnivale in two sittings, I realize that the only shows to come on TV that have interested me at all in the last decade have been on HBO or Showtime. Too bad I still haven't hooked up cable. But then it is probably a good thing, as I might never leave my apt again.

--Placing all of my books onto my bookshelves gave me a pleasure that I think can only be described as perverse

--The thousand dollar black leather couch that I scored off of craigslist for two hundred bucks also gives me joy that is probably unhealthy.

--Visiting the chiropractor daily for a week after inexplicably blowing out my lower back, the tech comments, "I can't turn the [electro-stim] machine any higher, you've maxed it out." When the doctor has his elbow dug deep into my lower back, "You really have an incredibly high tolerance for pain." Did I miss my calling? Should I have become a pro-masochist instead? Don't even entertain the thought. I have yet to meet the man I would submit to.

--I adore sharing films that I love with people. I showed a hopeless romantic Say Anything and Audition to another sadist. I don't think that the sheer artistry of the torture in that film can be appreciated by someone who has never been in that headspace. What a precise sliver of my psyche is now up for grabs.

--Attended two seminars given by Flagg. As prepared as I was to dislike him (for no rational reason), I was pleasantly surprised. Knowledgeable man.

--visited a friend in the psych ward after a botched suicide attempt. I arrived with Boo Boo Kisses for her wrists. Thankfully she laughed.

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