I was asked today at my psych why I enjoyed rope, why I enjoy being confined. For once, I actually came up with an answer, so I'm writing it here for posterity.
Sensorily, I love the feeling of rope. I love feeling it's constriction around me, I love the feel of rope, I love testing the boundaries of rope around me.
But it's not just the sensation. I could get that feeling just from tight clothes.
I love rope because being tied up feels safe. It takes me back to games with my brothers, where we would wrap each other in blankets and rugs, like big burritos. We'd inch around like worms, laugh, sometimes we'd even put two of us in the same rug. Being confined with rope takes me back to that place in my mind. When I'm wrapped in rope, I feel like the little rugworm again, unable to anything but inch around. I guess unlike a lot of people, being tied up never had bad connotations for me. When I was teased as a kid, I was never held, never forced down. The attacks on me were always social and psychological, never physical, so physical restraint just doesn't have a negative colour to me. So, being physically restrained always brings me in mind of childhood games, and all the positive feelings of play.
I get the same feeling when I'm caged. When I was little, my favourite places to hide from the world were always little "caves". Either the cave made from the beds in me and my brother's bedrooms, or a little hole in the hedge where my mum played netball, or the hidden little walkway at the basketball stadium, or the boot of a car, I've always had positive associations with small, hidden spaces, and cages bring that feeling into mind, because my cave is the place where the rest of the world isn't. It's where I can be, and I don't have to deal with the world while I'm there.
And then, there's Daddy. My Daddy is possibly the world's most responsible Dom. If he ties me up, or puts me in a cage, he doesn't just leave me there, and walk away. When I'm wrapped up, or in the cage, I know that Daddy is always somewhere giving me attention, keeping me supervised, making sure that I am safe, that nothing will go wrong. I know that when I'm confined, I have my Daddy's attention, and while I know he'll give me attention if I ask it of him, it's just one other thing that makes me feel good inside, to know that when I'm confined, Daddy's always there.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
Not gonna be a bro
A few months ago, Daddy had a rant to me about how much people raised as women are dealt a whole lot more restrictions about interaction, and "being on best behaviour". I'd just come back from the family Christmas lunch, with my very, very straight and non-queer family.
As my Daddy pointed out to me, at family gatherings, men aren't expected, really, to do any of the cleaning, or hosting, etc. Now, I used to buck that rule a lot, and you'd often find me in the kitchen with the women helping to prepare the meals, or working to help clean up the house. But the last few months have seen me stop that, and become a lot more slack at gatherings.
And as we talked about this, I realised more and more that this was not the kind of person I wanted to be. I don't want to be on the couch while the wimmin do everything. That's not who I am, and not really who I was raised to be.
It lead to a new little slogan, which I am now trying to incorporate into my life: "I don't wanna be a bro". The term "Bro" is often used with all the man-child connotations, with all the lack of responsibility that men are given because they just don't know any better. Well screw that. I am not a bro, I refuse to be a bro, I will not be a bro. Not the least because it goes against everything the Leather culture teaches, but it also goes against the submission that I strive for. I am there to serve, and while only me Daddy gets the right to be served, my service is a gift that I wish to bless the world with. I will not be a man who just lets the world serve him, I will not be a boy who lets his parents clean up for him.
I will not be a bro. I will be a Boy.
As my Daddy pointed out to me, at family gatherings, men aren't expected, really, to do any of the cleaning, or hosting, etc. Now, I used to buck that rule a lot, and you'd often find me in the kitchen with the women helping to prepare the meals, or working to help clean up the house. But the last few months have seen me stop that, and become a lot more slack at gatherings.
And as we talked about this, I realised more and more that this was not the kind of person I wanted to be. I don't want to be on the couch while the wimmin do everything. That's not who I am, and not really who I was raised to be.
It lead to a new little slogan, which I am now trying to incorporate into my life: "I don't wanna be a bro". The term "Bro" is often used with all the man-child connotations, with all the lack of responsibility that men are given because they just don't know any better. Well screw that. I am not a bro, I refuse to be a bro, I will not be a bro. Not the least because it goes against everything the Leather culture teaches, but it also goes against the submission that I strive for. I am there to serve, and while only me Daddy gets the right to be served, my service is a gift that I wish to bless the world with. I will not be a man who just lets the world serve him, I will not be a boy who lets his parents clean up for him.
I will not be a bro. I will be a Boy.
Songs of Aspirations
Sometimes we hear songs that don't exactly describe who we are, but do describe what we want to be. Songs which call to the higher parts of our soul, and focus our mind back to what we could be, what we desire most in our lives. A lot of times songs make us feel by connecting with our flaws, sometimes, despite themselves, a song will connect with the dreams we wish we were embodying.
The song that made me write this post is a song by Tim Minchin, called "Not Perfect". It's a song about the world around and within us. Most importantly, it's a song about accepting ownership of your world, accepting that, despite it's flaws, it's where you live, and even if you work to improve it, to love it, warts and all.
It's a beautiful (if long) song, but it's been haunting me this morning, and I wanted to spread it to everyone out there.
The song that made me write this post is a song by Tim Minchin, called "Not Perfect". It's a song about the world around and within us. Most importantly, it's a song about accepting ownership of your world, accepting that, despite it's flaws, it's where you live, and even if you work to improve it, to love it, warts and all.
It's a beautiful (if long) song, but it's been haunting me this morning, and I wanted to spread it to everyone out there.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Touch
I am a beast of touch.
Touch rules my life in a lot of different ways. I have noted several times that I'm a big sensation slut, but it goes further than that, I think.
I'm generally an anxious person, and many of the ways that I deal with my anxiety is by engaging my sense of touch. Either by poking a bruise, by biting the inside of my cheek, by licking my teeth, by feeling underneath my fingernails, by hugging myself, etc. When I'm really anxious, all it takes is a hug from my Daddy to start calming me down. When I see someone in emotional distress, my first instinct is to hug them, to place a hand on their shoulder, etc. The language of my intimacy is in my sense of touch, much to my Daddy's displeasure, as it often means that I talk far less than he'd like.
I like massage, but massage to me is an intensely intimate experience. I have discovered that I can't go to shopping centre masseurs, because I feel extremely odd getting a massage from them. It seems that only my partners can use massage to help me relax.
When I see animals and pets, one of the first impulses is always to pat and touch them, and this is probably why I tend to get along with dogs and cats so often, because we both enjoy touch a lot.
Simply, my skin is my preferred method of contact with the world, especially doing so intimately. Hugs, pats, sensual touch, are all definitely my favourite things!
Touch rules my life in a lot of different ways. I have noted several times that I'm a big sensation slut, but it goes further than that, I think.
I'm generally an anxious person, and many of the ways that I deal with my anxiety is by engaging my sense of touch. Either by poking a bruise, by biting the inside of my cheek, by licking my teeth, by feeling underneath my fingernails, by hugging myself, etc. When I'm really anxious, all it takes is a hug from my Daddy to start calming me down. When I see someone in emotional distress, my first instinct is to hug them, to place a hand on their shoulder, etc. The language of my intimacy is in my sense of touch, much to my Daddy's displeasure, as it often means that I talk far less than he'd like.
I like massage, but massage to me is an intensely intimate experience. I have discovered that I can't go to shopping centre masseurs, because I feel extremely odd getting a massage from them. It seems that only my partners can use massage to help me relax.
When I see animals and pets, one of the first impulses is always to pat and touch them, and this is probably why I tend to get along with dogs and cats so often, because we both enjoy touch a lot.
Simply, my skin is my preferred method of contact with the world, especially doing so intimately. Hugs, pats, sensual touch, are all definitely my favourite things!
On This Day
Five Years Ago, me and Daddy decided to become a couple.
Around Two and a Half Years ago, Me and Daddy realised that we were a Daddy/boy couple, and chose to Embrace it.
Two Years, Two months ago, I was collared by my Daddy.
Today, I feel nothing but gratitude for my Daddy, and all that he has done for me, and all he has allowed me to do for him. Without him... I don't know what I'd do without him.
Happy Anniversary, Daddy!
Around Two and a Half Years ago, Me and Daddy realised that we were a Daddy/boy couple, and chose to Embrace it.
Two Years, Two months ago, I was collared by my Daddy.
Today, I feel nothing but gratitude for my Daddy, and all that he has done for me, and all he has allowed me to do for him. Without him... I don't know what I'd do without him.
Happy Anniversary, Daddy!
Monday, January 9, 2012
Why can't I just be automatically good?
In the last week or so, Daddy has decided that I'm going to be taught proper dinner table manners, as he feels that mine are somewhat inadequate. He's given me an etiquette book to read (which I have been, dutifully), but this week he's decided to actually make me practice my table manners. Of course, he's been doing this slowly, and he decided that this week he's focusing on a single thing - how I hold my fork.
Of course, the way I hold a fork is very similar to how you would hold a spoon, as I'm very much a shoveller. As a result, I'm entirely unfamiliar with how to hold a fork properly. For the last couple of times I've been eating I've been railing against it, almost angrily against this stupid "proper" way of holding a fork that seems entirely in appropriate for a how a fork is designed, and designed to entirely prevent you from actually eating anything that's even slightly squidgey. Last night it pretty much came to a head, when I was pretty much throwing my hands up in frustration at how stupid the whole thing seemed.
Daddy was looking at my slightly dumbfounded at exactly how badly I was taking this whole etiquette thing, and being slightly hurt at how vigorously I was attacking it. And even I had to admit, my reaction seemed wholly out of proportion to the entire thing.
And then, I realised why I was railing against it so much - I sucked at it.
Like so many gifted kids in school, the kind of praise that I was given was based on how well I did at things. So, in a perfectly obvious turn of events, if I didn't do well at something, I would stop doing it. After all, you don't get praise at something if you don't do well, so why bother doing it? In many ways, this has been part of a lot of my behaviours throughout my life - I don't get the idea of training yourself until you're good at it. It frustrates me to fail, and the idea of sucking a whole lot to get good at something is a horrible idea to me.
And the thing about the etiquette thing was that the discomfort of using the fork a different way, and Daddy constantly correcting me, were constant reminders of how bad I was at the task. I didn't have the option of giving up, since Daddy wouldn't let me, so obviously I started lashing out at the task. Venting my frustration became hating the task, thinking it was stupid, etc.
And this was just one little task! I can only imagine what my reaction would have been if Daddy (or someone else) had been deciding to train me in a big skillset entirely that I had no experience and no natural skill at. I could very well have exploded, and done a lot of damage.
I will need to start paying attention to this, methinks. If I'm to be a good boy, I need to start learning how not to be frustrated at my own shortcomings, and learn how to be a good student when I'm not already good at something.
Of course, the way I hold a fork is very similar to how you would hold a spoon, as I'm very much a shoveller. As a result, I'm entirely unfamiliar with how to hold a fork properly. For the last couple of times I've been eating I've been railing against it, almost angrily against this stupid "proper" way of holding a fork that seems entirely in appropriate for a how a fork is designed, and designed to entirely prevent you from actually eating anything that's even slightly squidgey. Last night it pretty much came to a head, when I was pretty much throwing my hands up in frustration at how stupid the whole thing seemed.
Daddy was looking at my slightly dumbfounded at exactly how badly I was taking this whole etiquette thing, and being slightly hurt at how vigorously I was attacking it. And even I had to admit, my reaction seemed wholly out of proportion to the entire thing.
And then, I realised why I was railing against it so much - I sucked at it.
Like so many gifted kids in school, the kind of praise that I was given was based on how well I did at things. So, in a perfectly obvious turn of events, if I didn't do well at something, I would stop doing it. After all, you don't get praise at something if you don't do well, so why bother doing it? In many ways, this has been part of a lot of my behaviours throughout my life - I don't get the idea of training yourself until you're good at it. It frustrates me to fail, and the idea of sucking a whole lot to get good at something is a horrible idea to me.
And the thing about the etiquette thing was that the discomfort of using the fork a different way, and Daddy constantly correcting me, were constant reminders of how bad I was at the task. I didn't have the option of giving up, since Daddy wouldn't let me, so obviously I started lashing out at the task. Venting my frustration became hating the task, thinking it was stupid, etc.
And this was just one little task! I can only imagine what my reaction would have been if Daddy (or someone else) had been deciding to train me in a big skillset entirely that I had no experience and no natural skill at. I could very well have exploded, and done a lot of damage.
I will need to start paying attention to this, methinks. If I'm to be a good boy, I need to start learning how not to be frustrated at my own shortcomings, and learn how to be a good student when I'm not already good at something.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Long time no post
So, I've definitely been breaking the 1 post a week thing. I think a lot of that has been depression, with a big dose of doing way too much. So, I haven't really had a lot of brain for writing. But I'm not going to abandon this blog (besides, Daddy would kill me if I did).
This is mostly just a post to let people know that I am actually back. While I've been gone, I've been talking to a psychologist, about my depression, and I've gone on antidepressants (in fact, I've recently upped my dose). I'm hoping that the drugs'll work their magic again soon, and I can get back to being more writey. Talking with my psychologist has been helping too, in particular, we've been trying to get me to think past my more childish thought processes (Oh, did you think I was just playing a boy? Oh no...). It's been a lot of hard work, but I am forever optimistic.
Mostly because I do feel like I'm starting to grow up now. A lot of people say that they feel like they're not adults, that they're just pretending, and they're afraid that people will come in at any moment and notice. I've often thought that about myself, but I think I'm actually starting to feel like an adult. Now, this doesn't make me less of a boy, and I will always hold onto that boyish perspective in my head. But I feel more like I can move past that perspective in my everyday life when I need to.
And that leads me into my next post, because as I'm growing up, I want to follow in my Daddy's footsteps, and go through an explicit coming of age rite. Like my Daddy, I'm a big believer in rituals (although not always for the same reasons), and I think a proper, full ritual will help me hold onto this feeling of adultness. I'm going to talk to my psychologist today about what kind of trials such a ritual might hold. I'm a bit nervous, truth be told, because I'm not sure he's going to completely understand what I'm asking for. Still, I want the input, and if you can't ask your psychologist, who can you ask?
More tonight, I think.
This is mostly just a post to let people know that I am actually back. While I've been gone, I've been talking to a psychologist, about my depression, and I've gone on antidepressants (in fact, I've recently upped my dose). I'm hoping that the drugs'll work their magic again soon, and I can get back to being more writey. Talking with my psychologist has been helping too, in particular, we've been trying to get me to think past my more childish thought processes (Oh, did you think I was just playing a boy? Oh no...). It's been a lot of hard work, but I am forever optimistic.
Mostly because I do feel like I'm starting to grow up now. A lot of people say that they feel like they're not adults, that they're just pretending, and they're afraid that people will come in at any moment and notice. I've often thought that about myself, but I think I'm actually starting to feel like an adult. Now, this doesn't make me less of a boy, and I will always hold onto that boyish perspective in my head. But I feel more like I can move past that perspective in my everyday life when I need to.
And that leads me into my next post, because as I'm growing up, I want to follow in my Daddy's footsteps, and go through an explicit coming of age rite. Like my Daddy, I'm a big believer in rituals (although not always for the same reasons), and I think a proper, full ritual will help me hold onto this feeling of adultness. I'm going to talk to my psychologist today about what kind of trials such a ritual might hold. I'm a bit nervous, truth be told, because I'm not sure he's going to completely understand what I'm asking for. Still, I want the input, and if you can't ask your psychologist, who can you ask?
More tonight, I think.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Taking Care of your Daddy.
In the last week me and Daddy took a roadtrip to see his family, and coming back, I noticed a few things that I needed to get around to doing with his car.
This is interesting for a few reasons. I am not a car-minded person, as might be shown with my car, and how little attention I pay to it. But Daddy's car? I'm all up on how that car runs. I see every little indicator, I know exactly what needs doing, I have even been seen under the hood, replacing fuels and checking things.
And I only realised recently how differently I treat my car and Daddy's car. I will learn things and do things that I never would have bothered to do for my car. I keep fluids topped up, check tyre pressures. All the things you're supposed to check on your car, I do for Daddy's car.
When I think about it, it's a very obvious analogy to my relationship with my Daddy. So often, I won't do something unless I can make it in service to my Daddy. Chores? I'll do them in service to my Daddy, but never in service to myself. Taking care of myself is couched in terms of how it makes my Daddy's life better. And of course, I'm more attentive to my Daddy's car because keeping his car running is an essential part of making sure his life is running well.
I'm sure I'm being more than a little selfish in this regard. But in a way it kindof works. I take care of my Daddy's needs, and in return he makes sure my needs are being met. We can be each other's guardians, make sure that each of us have what we need, where we'd often ignore the important bits if we were left to ourselves. We can give each other permission to break rules, to be slack if we have to, to take breaks, or to push ourselves hard when we have to. Daddy does it by ordering me around, I do it by making sure my Daddy has my fullest support when he needs it, and has my advice at all times.
Sometimes I wonder if I need my Daddy more than he needs me. Certainly, I seem to have gained a lot more in terms to self-power than he has. Or perhaps we need each other just as much, in just enough.
This is interesting for a few reasons. I am not a car-minded person, as might be shown with my car, and how little attention I pay to it. But Daddy's car? I'm all up on how that car runs. I see every little indicator, I know exactly what needs doing, I have even been seen under the hood, replacing fuels and checking things.
And I only realised recently how differently I treat my car and Daddy's car. I will learn things and do things that I never would have bothered to do for my car. I keep fluids topped up, check tyre pressures. All the things you're supposed to check on your car, I do for Daddy's car.
When I think about it, it's a very obvious analogy to my relationship with my Daddy. So often, I won't do something unless I can make it in service to my Daddy. Chores? I'll do them in service to my Daddy, but never in service to myself. Taking care of myself is couched in terms of how it makes my Daddy's life better. And of course, I'm more attentive to my Daddy's car because keeping his car running is an essential part of making sure his life is running well.
I'm sure I'm being more than a little selfish in this regard. But in a way it kindof works. I take care of my Daddy's needs, and in return he makes sure my needs are being met. We can be each other's guardians, make sure that each of us have what we need, where we'd often ignore the important bits if we were left to ourselves. We can give each other permission to break rules, to be slack if we have to, to take breaks, or to push ourselves hard when we have to. Daddy does it by ordering me around, I do it by making sure my Daddy has my fullest support when he needs it, and has my advice at all times.
Sometimes I wonder if I need my Daddy more than he needs me. Certainly, I seem to have gained a lot more in terms to self-power than he has. Or perhaps we need each other just as much, in just enough.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Isolation and Vulnerability
I've posted previously about how I've kept myself distant from things around me, and recently I've been doing a bit more work into trying to break that down. In particular, I've started seeing my old psych again, and tried to pick up where we left off.
He pointed out a really interesting thing that I hadn't really thought about, when we were talking about whether to engage or stay distant. He pointed out that really, the question was striking a balance between isolation (which is safe, but lonely) and vulnerability (which is dangerous, but rewarding).
He noted that I've had a lot of bad cases of becoming vulnerable to someone, and then that person betraying my trust. Which means that, over time, I've become a whole lot less willing to be vulnerable around people. Oh sure, I can happily chat to people, talk to them about me, but I'm never investing my vulnerability on those conversations. Instead, I'm keeping solid distance, throwing out "safe" parts of myself. But it means that I have very few real, genuine friends, because I won't let down that isolation barrier, and engage in real, vulnerable interaction.
Me and Daddy had a talk last night about what my isolation means in our relationship, especially seeing how long-term it is. And really, what it's doing is choking his desire to engage in anything meaningful with me. After all, I always have the shields up, I don't engage with anything he'd plan, so what's the point? I'm only caring about what I'm getting out of kink, I'm not really engaging with him on the level he's looking for. Worse, it's making it hard for him to take those sorts of interactions from others - I'm basically rubbing off on him.
As much as he's not saying this to make me feel bad, it does make me feel a bit guilty. Even if it's not exactly my fault, it's still my problem to fix. I have to learn this engagement stuff, but frankly I'm not sure where to start. Well, okay, I know exactly where to start, and I've already done it - I'm seeking professional help. But as of yet, I have no game plan, how I get this fixed.
Oh well. Baby steps.
He pointed out a really interesting thing that I hadn't really thought about, when we were talking about whether to engage or stay distant. He pointed out that really, the question was striking a balance between isolation (which is safe, but lonely) and vulnerability (which is dangerous, but rewarding).
He noted that I've had a lot of bad cases of becoming vulnerable to someone, and then that person betraying my trust. Which means that, over time, I've become a whole lot less willing to be vulnerable around people. Oh sure, I can happily chat to people, talk to them about me, but I'm never investing my vulnerability on those conversations. Instead, I'm keeping solid distance, throwing out "safe" parts of myself. But it means that I have very few real, genuine friends, because I won't let down that isolation barrier, and engage in real, vulnerable interaction.
Me and Daddy had a talk last night about what my isolation means in our relationship, especially seeing how long-term it is. And really, what it's doing is choking his desire to engage in anything meaningful with me. After all, I always have the shields up, I don't engage with anything he'd plan, so what's the point? I'm only caring about what I'm getting out of kink, I'm not really engaging with him on the level he's looking for. Worse, it's making it hard for him to take those sorts of interactions from others - I'm basically rubbing off on him.
As much as he's not saying this to make me feel bad, it does make me feel a bit guilty. Even if it's not exactly my fault, it's still my problem to fix. I have to learn this engagement stuff, but frankly I'm not sure where to start. Well, okay, I know exactly where to start, and I've already done it - I'm seeking professional help. But as of yet, I have no game plan, how I get this fixed.
Oh well. Baby steps.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Another Long Absence
So, things have been a bit... overwhelming recently. Stress, understandably, will exacerbate any little issues you might have, and I've been in the middle of looking at finding a new place to live, uncertainty over money, concern for my daddy, possible interstate trips... It's been a lot to handle, and it's been difficult to bring up any mental force to write here.
But I made a promise to my Daddy, and that's a promise I intend to keep. It's a lot of catching up, but I need to get this done. I'm just... not sure where to begin. To be frank, real life has taken over kink to such a large degree right now, there barely seems room for much, which is a terrible shame.
I've been doing a lot of hiding, a lot of running away, and unfortunately that's also included this blog. My favourite reaction in the world, apparently, is to flee the world, run away from my responsibilities, to bunker down. It's not a useful strategy though, it just means that I keep putting things off until I must deal with it right now, which of course builds up the stress.
Last night it all kind of exploded. My memory had failed me again, I had mistaken my appointment time with my psych, and I just devolved into a sobbing wreck of rage and frustration. It scared me, a lot. I hide my anger, even from myself, but last night I couldn't help but feel it, and there was no target for my anger but myself, so it kept roiling around inside me, screaming for some sort of release. I could get myself just under control to get out of my Daddy's arms, but not enough to feel stable.
My Daddy, god bless him, encouraged me to go to a park with him, and in the beauty of the park, I finally did manage to stabilise myself again. Today I'm taking the day off work, and I'm going to my doctor to talk to him about this stuff. My psych has thankfully given me an appointment on Thursday, so I'll get to see him (and my word will I have a lot to talk about).
I'm really worried about that roiling sea of rage in me. I haven't been in that sort of state for a very long time, and I know, at least on a rational level, that that's mostly due to me working really hard to suppress it. I'm under no illusions, it's still there, somewhere in my subconscious, and I'm concerned that at some point, it'll explode somewhere it's not safe to do so.
Hopefully you'll see a few more posts from me the next couple of weeks, as I try to catch up and bring the blog back up to date.
But I made a promise to my Daddy, and that's a promise I intend to keep. It's a lot of catching up, but I need to get this done. I'm just... not sure where to begin. To be frank, real life has taken over kink to such a large degree right now, there barely seems room for much, which is a terrible shame.
I've been doing a lot of hiding, a lot of running away, and unfortunately that's also included this blog. My favourite reaction in the world, apparently, is to flee the world, run away from my responsibilities, to bunker down. It's not a useful strategy though, it just means that I keep putting things off until I must deal with it right now, which of course builds up the stress.
Last night it all kind of exploded. My memory had failed me again, I had mistaken my appointment time with my psych, and I just devolved into a sobbing wreck of rage and frustration. It scared me, a lot. I hide my anger, even from myself, but last night I couldn't help but feel it, and there was no target for my anger but myself, so it kept roiling around inside me, screaming for some sort of release. I could get myself just under control to get out of my Daddy's arms, but not enough to feel stable.
My Daddy, god bless him, encouraged me to go to a park with him, and in the beauty of the park, I finally did manage to stabilise myself again. Today I'm taking the day off work, and I'm going to my doctor to talk to him about this stuff. My psych has thankfully given me an appointment on Thursday, so I'll get to see him (and my word will I have a lot to talk about).
I'm really worried about that roiling sea of rage in me. I haven't been in that sort of state for a very long time, and I know, at least on a rational level, that that's mostly due to me working really hard to suppress it. I'm under no illusions, it's still there, somewhere in my subconscious, and I'm concerned that at some point, it'll explode somewhere it's not safe to do so.
Hopefully you'll see a few more posts from me the next couple of weeks, as I try to catch up and bring the blog back up to date.
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