Resentment

I’ve been loathe to write posts like this lately cuz I have so many non BDSM/lifestyle readers now and they often don’t quite get it.  Sometimes they judge.  (Which is okay. We all judge.  That’s how we determine right and wrong, good and bad, blah blah blah)  But I realized as I was writing yesterday that I have to stop giving a shit what others may thing and start writing again, writing what I want to write cuz it’s what’s in my head and heart and that is what this blog has always been about.

So today I’m going to write about resentment.  This gnawing, black lump of resentment that’s been sitting in my belly for a couple of months.

Resentment towards…   *gasp*…  Taylor.

It all pretty much centers around the fact that I’m now working and still having to do all the stuff I normally did when I was a housemouse — only now I’m failing.

The house is a wreck.  It’s winter so it needs dusting daily.  With three dogs, a cat, two grown ups with dry skin, numerous down/feather pillows and other bedding and a factory that spits out crazy pollution two blocks over, plus the heater kicking in (and probably needing a filter replacement) I have a dust problem.  Winter makes it worse.  I need to dust and vacuum daily and I don’t fucking have time.  And it pisses me off.

I don’t feel like cooking after work.  Or picking up yet another pair of fucking socks.  Or moving a pair of boots. Or cleaning up a puddle of pee.  Or winding my way around the stuff that should be in the basement shop but has found its way up here because it’s warmer.  Or moving the helmet that’s been sitting in my kitchen since July ONE MORE fucking TIME.

I don’t want to go get him a soda or make him a bagel.  I don’t want to get up and run the lock out kit to the garage in the middle of my day so I end up, later, having to work an hour later.  I don’t want to be the only one who takes the dogs out.

I’m just…  mad.  And frustrated. And resentful.  And it’s not anything Taylor has done that’s different than normal.  It’s me, feeling like I don’t have enough time in a day or enough “me” time.  It’s me, not adjusting to being a working submissive very well.

I LOVE my job.  Love it.  But I think I expected him to change a bit once I took it on, to rely on me less, to lighten my load.  Maybe he has and I just don’t see it.  Probably he has and I don’t see it cuz it’s not enough.

And at the same time, if he stopped asking and expecting me to do all the service oriented things I’ve always done for him it would break my heart.

I don’t want to lose our dynamic.

I just want to adjust.  And find more time in the day.

And, yeah, ok, I want him to move that fucking helmet into the basement and stop bringing tools up here and clean his desk.  Maybe not leave his clothes in a pile in the living room.  But that’s it.

The rest?  I still want to do.  I just don’t know how to do them happily any more when I’m so stressed out all the time and never feel like I have time.

And until snow falls, he’s only working 2.5 days a week so a huge part of my brain is always screaming, “but Dude!  You don’t have anything you have to do. At all.  Fuck!  Do it yourself!”

But then, again, I know if he did it, I’d feel like too much had shifted and I wouldn’t feel useful to him or whatever.  I don’t know.

A little bit of doing stuff for himself would probably be good.

And then there is the fact that this relationship is not about that.  It’s not about him doing stuff cuz it would be easier for me.

But then who says he can’t?

It’s like the whole asking for play thing.  If I ask and he does it, I feel too much in control.  So he should just do it cuz he knows I need it and I shouldn’t have to ask.

And, yeah, we all know how well that mind reading stuff works, right?

Gah.

It’s my own problem, my own headspace that needs adjusting.  I wish I had a week all to myself, no kid, no Taylor, no dogs, to get the house organized and some space and a chance to…  I dunno.  Right myself.  That’s not gonna happen, though, so I need to figure out how to do it without a week vacation.

Just writing about it has made me feel better. Less pissed off and torn up about it.  It’s okay to feel resentment.  It’s not okay to let it fester inside you.  Which means a sit down talk is in order, both with Taylor and the kid, so we can work something out that will help me.

Tackling the house and getting it cleaned – and a new furnace filter – will be a huge step and if I can get them both to help me with that this weekend, I’ll be thrilled.

A little pampering would be nice, too.  I kind of feel like I just had this surgery (minor, sure, but still) and it’s all just life as normal.  Doesn’t help that Taylor is sick with some sort of cold/flu so he’s been extra needy in that way only a sick man can be and that leaves no one to take care of poor little me.

And yes, it is all about me, don’t ya know?

(Which is the whole problem right there.  Stop it, puss.  Stop thinking about only yourself for two minutes.  Being pissed and dwelling on it just makes it worse.  Suck it up, buttercup.  You chose this life, ms super slavey.  Shut up. Cool, hey?  I just summed up all the comments I’m going to get from those who know and love me best in parenthesis IN my own post!)

And now…

Taylor is in bed already, having dosed up on Theraflu and Vaporub (which, yes, I did get for him) so I’m going to make a cup of coffee, send the kid to his room and…  what?  See?  I work all day on the computer.  All the stuff I used to do, after working all day, has little appeal.  Read blogs?  Pfft.  Write more?  Yeah, right.  Mess around on Facebook or EF?  No thanks.  Chatter on Twitter?  Um, no, that’s like work.  Argh!  I need a beach, a blue sea and a Corona, please.