Spring is back and so am I (well, nearly).

Spring is springing here, and with it my health appears to be returning. Oh the joy. Oh forest how I’ve missed you! Cities! Coffee shops! Shops! The river! Oh wide world how I’ve missed you! It feels like I am buried under a heap of rocks, and then I get to venture back Out There. Oh the joy, the joy.

Yesterday I got N to drive me over to Bury as I needed sandals. I basically wear boots, sandals and trainers at home and as it is warm enough for the boots to go away new sandals were needed. I got a pretty bronzey pair that are comfy enough to walk around in all day but still easy on the eye so I am pleased. Since my health went downhill the stylishness of my footwear has sadly gone with it much of the time.

The thing is though, when I have been out of action for months on end as soon as I get out properly there are loads of things I want to buy. So after the sandals I bought myself a polka dot dress and some leggings, a beautiful dress from Monsoon for the munchkin to wear to the upcoming wedding of one of my best friends, matching pretty things to go with it, hair colour for me, bake ware, teeny snack tubs because when I am very low carbing it’s easier to just chuck some snacks in a tub than try to find somewhere that sells what I can eat, Easter treats for people and goodness knows what else. We stopped for coffee and spent some time chatting. Then in the evening he drove us down to the river at a beautiful place near us and we strolled around happily. It’s nice having someone to do the gentle transitional things with.

The only O/p blog bringing you Bambi rather than bondage - you love me really.

This morning I went for a lovely walk in the forest where I live. And I’m sitting here now with the windows open with the sun coming in sipping iced cold brew coffee topped up with ginger beer (drink of the Gods).

Anyway, astute readers may have noticed the walking and very low carbing are back. Aside from my yet again squooshed fitness levels which need dragging back up again, I have, as always when I flare and end up not able to do anything, put loads of weight on. So, I’m VLC-ing and for now just trying to build up with walking again. It takes about a month of walking before I am back enough to exercise more properly but if I overpush it it’s counterproductive. This is a bit pesky as the above mentioned wedding is in three weeks and I would have liked to be a bit less fat for that, especially as I am now going to be more ‘visible’ than I had expected having been asked to make a speech and do things (I always seem to get asked to give speeches at weddings, I have no idea why).

What else? Well N has been going for tests. I am worried and going extremely easy on him at present. He doesn’t like the fact I am going easy on him, but that’s tough. There are bigger concerns than whether he’s overjoyed with the current status quo. I want a healthy living slave not a devoted dead one. He is going to have to put up with it.  

So anyway, I have very little that is scintillating to tell you. Enforcing a life that appears vanilla (well relatively) on the surface is probably one the most obscure things I have ever done. N is craving normality back, but for now I am forcing him to enjoy the sunshine and take it as easy as possible. I'm such a bitch. 

My butterfly is too shiny.

Today was a very early start and a Cambridge day. The interesting bit is that I went to a  Vermeer exhibition  at the Fitzwilliam museum and got to see The Lacemaker and The Music Lesson which was very cool. Other highlights for me included The Reader by Eglon van der Neer, and A Woman at a Window by Jacobus Vrel which I have a secret love for ("Oh screw the housework, it's sunny out there and there are much more interesting things going on. Also yes, I'm fat so if you don't want to look at my arse feel free to avert your eyes irrelevant viewer"). Ok, it's just possible that I am projecting a little ;)

'Kiss it'.

As they couldn’t find anyone else at that moment, I also got roped briefly into waffling on about a painting (The dead Christ supported by the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene, by Bassetti in case anyone is randomly curious). This basically involved me saying things like 'Slate is very dark, and look this one’s not broken. How super!' I’m a  fucking genius I tell you. Amusingly I was asked to take my butterfly hairband off as I suspect butterflies don’t look learned (though they sweetly pretended it was because it was too shiny for camera). Snort. This amused me immensely.   

What else? Aside from practical stuff there was Christmas shopping, including a rather entertaining present for N which I am sniggering about as I type (I think I am hilarious with this and I nearly laughed like a loon in the shop when I saw it. Oh bad puns, how I love thee), more art supplies for a big present I’m making up, and books. Also purple leather gloves for myself from N as miraculously I found a pair that fitted my decidedly non-dainty hands. I sent him a text to tell him he'd bought me a lovely present and naturally as a good slave he was thrilled I'm quite sure.

Coffee, Welsh cakes, nattering, and some generally pleasant Cambridge time.  The festive season is definitely upon us in terms of the shops, it was carols on the speakers and mulled wine scent in the air systems of big shops, which is one of the many reasons I try to avoid them like the plague. I also detected that first whiff of frenzy in the air, lots of Very Middle Class women buying things like shawls with artsy recycled glass beads on, and darling china tea cups in special satin lined gift boxes etc.

Then home on the train and a trudge through the rain in the dark to find a slave waiting with tea for me. Is there anything nicer than coming in tired and cold to find someone dutifully waiting with lovingly pre-prepared tea? I realise most people see O/p as being one long round of chains and debauchery but as far as I am concerned tea is a major component. In fact next time someone puts one of those threads up in the O/p group asking 'what the cornerstone of O/p is' I think I shall reply that here at least, it is tea.

Tonight is my weekly big drugs night so I shall try to fit as much as possible in before I take it. But first dinner. And then, shockingly, some more tea.

Angst in Ely.

Tuesday was a very busy day, but I managed get a lot done, and also spend some enjoyable time doing nice things, aka shopping – pretty thermal base layer top, ‘there is no such thing as bad weather just the wrong kit’ etc, five 16 x 12 dark wood picture frames for some lovely prints, a flask with birds on, a Cath Kidston gadget case, purple lip gloss, brown hair dye (used last night), silver wire love heart earrings, electric toothbrush heads (sexily)   - and having a gingerbread latte in Ely too, which was good.  Lovely in fact.

Ely Cathedral (which is lovely, by the way)

While in Ely, I also did something somewhat compulsive however. You see, it’s my Mother’s birthday soon. Every single birthday, and Yule (and various other times, randomly), I go through this quite deranged thought process, usually in the early hours of the morning.

'I wonder how Mum is. It’s her birthday soon. I wonder if she’s ok. I can’t send her anything to try to make her happier for her birthday now. I could send a card. No, that would be stupid. What good would it do? You know it won’t actually do anything helpful. And anywhere you can’t send a card because then she’ll know where you live. Ah, well I could send one when I’m away from home, especially if I’m in a different county. Cambridge is the obvious answer because then she will automatically assume I’m still in Cambridge. I’m going to [X place] this week, I wonder if that would do. But it’s stupid anyway, there’s no point in sending a card, even if I do manage to deal with the location issue. A card wouldn’t make her life nicer anyway. I could send a totally anonymous gift of neutral but nice things, sort of like a hamper. Then she wouldn’t know it was from me. And I could put all her favourite stuff in. But then she would know it was me because who else would know all her favourite stuff? And who else would be sending her anonymous gifts? I suppose I could put some stuff she doesn’t like in it as well to blur the matter. Oh FFS, that’s ridiculous. The card idea was stupid enough. Though the card isn’t useful, but a gift would be, so it’s actually less foolish. But both are idiotic plans. I’d have to lug my no doubt heavy secret parcel full of useful lovingly chosen gifts (and sneaky unwanted ones?) a long way, to get round the location issue which is ridiculous. A card would at least not be difficult in that manner. But it’s stupid anyway, there’s no point in sending a card, even if I do manage to deal with the location issue……'

And on this goes. Seriously, this is how nuts this issue drives me. On no other matter am I ever a basket case a’la this.

On Tuesday though as I was walking round a shop in Ely  buying the picture frames I found myself staring at the cards and decided to do it. Away from home? Check. Right time of year? Check. Cards just sitting there? Check. Idiotic fucking crazycakes idea? Check. First we had the ‘which card will be the most appropriate option’ dilemma. A huge rack of cards and pretty much every one had a landmine on it. That one says too much loving stuff. That one mentions being happy and she can’t be happy. That one is too fun, she’ll see it as taunting. That one is too affectionate. That one she’ll think is childish and see as patronising. That one she’ll see as too plain and a rebuff. That one is dark colours and she’ll take as some cruel thing. That one has a family on it. That one she’ll see as something to do with the devil. That one has a garden on it and that’s the last thing I need. That one will make her get depressed about her dead cat. On and on it goes. In the end I went for what seemed the best option but which I know she will analyse and find a thousand faults with.

Then I packed it away and tried to put it out of my head, and went for the aforementioned vat of gingerbread latte. About halfway through my pint sized mug it was time to write the card. This involved writing out several carefully worded options in my notebook in an effort to get the most non inflammatory phrasing I could. Then agonising about them for a while and scribbling and editing. Then looking through my pens to try to find an ink that would be most acceptable. Black she’ll see as hostile. Of the options in my bag at this precise minute that leaves purple and gold. Gold is out as she’ll say she can’t read it. That leaves purple, which she’ll bitch about for it’s flamboyance and no doubt turn it into some homophobic thing. But purple is not going to register as actually aggressive  and it’s visible so I shall have to go with flamboyant-burn-in-Hell-you-invert-dyke ink.  Unless I go to the shops for a blue pen. Which I’m not doing because I shouldn’t be doing this anyway and holy fuck all this dicking around is fucking ridiculous. What the fuck am I doing? Since when do I do shit like this?



Apparently purple is 'flaky' rather than dykey and thus I should not have worried  ^



So, with my flamboyant lesbian ink I carefully (because my handwriting will be analysed and shown and discussed in great detail) transcribed my carefully crafted phrasing. I have pretty nice handwriting usually, unless my hands are especially bad I often get compliments on it. But yesterday presumably because I was in this tensed up, making an effort state my writing was shit on the inside of the card (though tellingly totally back to my nice normal writing for the name and address on the envelope, when I wasn’t thinking about it). 

And let us not forget the whole what to write re names debacle. What to call her? I went with ’Mum’ as really, all other options come off as mean, but I know it will piss her off. Then there is what to call myself (long story, don’t ask). I went with my forename. This will not go down well, but what else to do?

Then I looked it over in detail and stressed about it an considered buying a new card and a blue pen and again decided I had let this idiocy already take me far too far into crazyville. The above is about as opposed to my normal behaviour as is possible.

Then whether to tuck the envelope in, or stick it shut. Was the stamp in squarely enough? Would an Ely postmark cause a problem? Should I just throw it in the bin (Sensible answer: yes. Chosen behaviour: no)? And eventually I posted the stupid fucking thing.

The fact that I can normally do the things I do, competently and happily, but this turns me into a total clusterfuck of insecurity and stress is precisely the reason I should not send cards. But now I have and that means I may have accidentally set a premise. I never thought of that, because I was too busy persuading myself not to do it.