Just in case I wondered if working with E would be stressful after recent crap, at least the answer is clear. A big, resounding “yes.” After enjoying a weekend with precious few streaks of anxiety, even going to meet a lady for the first time. This has, at times, been sufficient to cause overwhelming nauseous anxious feelings — *you* try making a good impression when your stomach is doing such flip-flops that you barely suppress the urge to hold a hand up to your mouth, eh?
But I digress. Working next to her is indeed distinctly stressful. However, that’s apparently just part of my current bailiwick and I’m sure I will adjust. When she grows up and figures out how to be well and truly civil, I’m sure it will help. Women being very carefully civil to one another may be the worst kind of angry there is, but it does serve to keep the rest of life going in the middle of a stalemate.
At a Black Rose class tonight with H&L, I found myself unexpectedly shy, not wanting to even raise my hand to join the submissive head count. The topic was on service in submission.
“Service submissive, with Ann Goodpet – Join us for a look at what service submission is – and what it is not. We’ll talk about how to find service opportunities and enjoy the work without getting overloaded, how to not be taken advantage of, and how to get your needs met also. Discussion will cover both short term service and also long term service contacts.
We will look at three service levels (life, house, personal) and types of services (work, chauffeur, domestic, escort, valet, personal, play, events), service to events, groups, leather families, multiple persons and service to both Dominants and submissives.”
This shyness is, as I explained to a slightly surprised H, actually par for the course for my inborn tendencies (along with general impatience and the belief that all arguments are for winning, no matter how I get there). Each time I, my little introverted self, took my courage in hand (despite the heart in my throat) and did something terrifying (like say hello to someone on the bus) without resultant disaster, I got a little braver. Learning social scripts really helps — but those are mostly learned by doing, but a lot of group social interactions are still just pretend, just role play. But that’s okay — because I’m really quite good at role play. And this comfort with role play is vital because February has yet to finish having its way with me. Even after leaving the office, dinner, the lovely distraction of friends. Even after getting home! I’m still plagued with the nauseous-anxious-flip-flop. Oy vey. Perhaps tonight I’ll actually sleep properly?
Meh. Thanks to S’ comfort with my weebles and good sensible advice, at least I calmed down enough this afternoon to go ahead and have a lovely evening, instead of canceling. It was a near thing, but I took myself for a walk and Hallelujah!, sanity re-emerged at least a little from its hidey-hole so that I didn’t have to join it in there. I swear. Sometimes I feel like the little introvert that could.
Well. Other than that, which was like a faintly annoying buzz at the back of my brain, the evening was lovely except for fouling up the black lace scarf I’m working on. I think I screwed it up this morning on the bus, and then again while listening to Ann get moving on her presentation, until I realized how very thoroughly I screwed it up, tried to work back a few rows, really truly realized *exactly* how much I fucked it up and scrapped trying to focus on it. I should bear this in mind when choosing projects when I’m back in class. Just simple ribbing and such, else… disaster! (It’s not too disastrous, really — I sorted it out on the way home on the Metro, because I am the mistress of my own knitting needles. So there.) Knitting this thing is such a damn masochistic move on my part. I will wonder what on earth I was thinking until it’s done. Lace? Black? A flat project? Scarves, what was I thinking??
And now I’m idly listening to the ideological row brewing in my head between the “but we’re feminist and independent and we don’t have to nurture anybody at all if we don’t want to!” and the naggingly persistent desire to do serve. To hold doors (and, I may as well admit it, to courtesy when I do), pour tea, refresh water, fix collars, bathe, oil, dress, undress, make reservations, and generally make myself thoroughly sexually available. I even relish the thought of being “loaned out,” though I feel like that’s quite far in my future, requiring a very well-established d/s relationship and some level of comfort with the local bdsm community and some of the players in it.
::Yawn:: Most of the people-ick has finally fallen off my shoulders for the night, I think, though I might have to finish the job with a shower, late as it is. And hopefully I can come up with more intelligent commentary on the debate between my desires and my pesky ideologies later.