Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Catching my breath

My sadistic Svengali has decided that I need a time out. Not as a punishment - though I suspect there's a possibility of one of those as well, and due to something he mentioned in passing, the thought fills me with dread and... other things...

He thinks I need to breathe. And given that he is regrettably always right, I must admit that I do. I'm overheated. My mind is racing, my blood pressure is up, I hear a phrase or open a catalogue and suddenly a poem comes spouting out.

And the poems are good. I have to accept that, too, because he says they are and he says WHY they are so, and the reasons are usually things I wasn't even aware I was doing. Of course, I eat up the praise, and of course I very much want to please him. And except when I make him crazy I think I do please him. But I'm so inspired, so wildly blissful from the stimulation, mainly intellectual but admittedly not always, that I'm verging on the manic. Which is a pretty strange state for me to be in at the beginning of September.

It's not surprising, really. I'm high on a cocktail of drugs, and they're each addictive on their own. Just imagine the potency of the alternate reality of subspace combined with the exhilaration of creative inspiration on top of that dependable stimulant, praise... and isn't it amazing how with all the extravagant things someone can say about you (well, about me, anyway) the most delicious, the most treasured, the most effective, the one that makes me want to both curl up and hug myself and sit up with big begging eyes and say "yes, Sir, please, Sir, what else can I do for you, Sir? Anything, Sir. Anything. Anything just for the chance of your calling me 'good girl' again..."

See? I'm utterly overheated.

So I've been given a time out. Silence. And no homework. For at least a couple of days. With the suggestion (not an order, but his suggestions carry a lot of weight) that I stay away from any websites that might disrupt his effort to restore my equilibrium.

I don't argue with that one. He hasn't known me very long but already he knows me very well. I need to try to go cold turkey for a bit.

So, I'll try. And I'll get some bills paid, and curl up with the cats, and get to bed early and try not to wake up before dawn with endorphins splashing through my body at the prospect of what delicious adventures the new day will bring.

After all, it's only a couple of days...


Anonymous said...

A couple of days can seem very long. :)

oatmeal girl said...

Yeah, Marianne, well look how successful I'm being so far! I already left a comment on YOUR blog, and now am commenting back on your comment on MY blog. Not so great at going cold turkey. But I do feel somewhat calmer. And I'm resisting the urge to write poetry. It's REALLY hard... something pops into my head and I coldly and cruelly stop myself from grabbing a piece of paper, as if I'm channeling the evil fiend and trying to dom myself. Very hard work. Obviously, there must be pleasure to be gained from having me as a service slut, but I'd hate to be the one trying to control me!

Chains... the only solution is chains...