The last few weeks have sucked.
I've been stressed out over money.
Marko was horribly ill and looked as if he might die.
My asthma was heading towards a crisis stage.
And oh yes.... there was the little matter of my car being totaled as it slept peacefully in front of my house early one morning when a van belonging to a major American (is it still American?) corporation smashed into it. And then I was the one who spent hours and days and all told it will be at least 2 weeks getting the claim filed (and why did *I* have to file the claim?) and working my way through the layers of bureaucracy and pulling money out of my IRA to supplement the actually very generous settlement I got for my beautiful VERY low mileage car that had just been given a hearty meal of a full tank of gas.
I flirted with the appraiser.
He was very generous indeed with the valuation.
In the end, I did treat myself to an elegant new car - a car that one would never think could be elegant but this one is indeed elegant.
Still, I'm angry.
I'm angry and stressed and all these little details remain unresolved.
They are eating at me.
On the other hand, the day I picked up the new car, Marko suddenly decided he was starving and gobbled down every bit of food in sight. No more squirting kitty Ensure down his throat. And he started playing! It had been weeks since he played, and there he was with one of his favorite pipe cleaners. Such joy.
But the stress still festers.
And it distracts me.
I shouldn't be thinking of myself.
I should be thinking of the sadist.
Of my Master.
Of Daddy - which is how I address him now almost all the time.
He is ALWAYS very stressed out this time of year. He is stressed out and his usual schedule is disrupted and there are all sorts of extra demands on his time and this is when he needs me to concentrate on providing a diversion. On providing entertainment. On being his poet whore. On being his vulnerable baby girl. Even when circumstances are disruptive and he has to go 2 weeks without enjoying the physical pleasures I can provide, I can give him the gifts of my mind and with half a dozen sentences do for him what no one else can.
He says this again and again.
No one can give him what I can.
So how selfish of me to allow my own woes to distract me from my duties. Duties which,when properly performed, end up distracting me from my own woes.
The mere act of writing those last few sentences has calmed me.
The stress and anger aren't all gone.
But I'm breathing deeply now
and the warmth of my love is caressing me inside and out.
I love you, Daddy.
Everything else is irrelevant next to that.
I love you.
And with my surrender
I regain my strength.