The Offering
Heat rises internally
Coiling infernally
The blank slate laid bare
Begging to be marked there
The offering is yours
Bless me til I curse
Sanctify this altar
Lest this ache cause me to falter
Let the rage inside
Join the storm in my eyes
Coax the thunder from my veins
Keeping time with leather refrain
Don’t hold back as you take
This offering I make
I’ve heard this phrase followed by “what the hell does that even mean?” a few times. It means you either keep the cake or you eat it. You don’t get to have it both ways. But why would you want to keep the cake? In the words of Kaylee Fry (Browncoat for life!): Cause I’m pretty.
I use this phrase when I want two things that contradict each other. I want to be rich, but I don’t want to work for it. I want to be paid to write, but only what I want to write. I want to be a kinky girl and a mom/accountant. You either get one or the other right? Well, I’ve been trying to have the last one both ways anyway.
I didn’t write last night because I’m unsure how my daughter meeting my boyfriend went. She’s not talking to me. I can’t believe I’m sharing this stuff publicly, but I have nothing else to write about otherwise, and I’m seriously trying to make this writing thing a habit. Anyway…teen not talking. Typical right? I started re-evaluating why this guy is in my life because this maybe the first honest roadblock I’m up against….and it’s a doozy. Is it worth it to try to work through my daughter not caring for him if that is the case?
First…seriously…is it just the kink? If I take that away do I still like what I have? I’m left with a guy that buys me stuff that I never have to worry about paying for in other ways. A guy that takes care of himself to the point I don’t have to worry about him at all…but I still do. A guy that remembers things about me like I don’t like pink (which he has fun putting me in pink because he’s a sadist, but I digress), or that I can’t eat gluten so he finds places I can eat, or remembers when I take my daughter to the doctor and asks how it went. Oh hell yeah I want to keep that shit for as long as I possibly can. Who has that?! No one I’ve ever met. He could never buy me another thing and I’d still walk barefoot through broken glass to stay with him because of the little things. Of course we are only coming up on our fourth month together. I’ll see where we are in four more.
As it stands right now I’ll not badger the girl on how she feels about the subject. They’ve met. He can actually come to the house once in a while instead of me trying to plan my life around the two of them separately. And in four more months maybe she’ll be like…yeah mom he’s cool and I’ll still have my little things. Then it won’t be a contradiction so I won’t have to worry about keeping cake, storing cake or eating cake….because you know what?
The cake is a lie.
I’m cheating. Season 12 of Diablo 3 came out and I’ve been enjoying my “free” time there. So I slacked on writing. You get a story I wrote a while ago. This story involves consensual non-consent. Sometimes that means what I have with my boyfriend: he can do anything he wants to me any time without discussing it first. I can ALWAYS call “red”, but it would take a lot. We have this arrangement because I trust him in a way I’ve never trusted anyone before. In the case of the following story it is what some might call fulfilling a rape fantasy. I don’t like calling it that because its not rape….consent is involved (red will always stop a scenario no matter what) even if it walks a fine edge. If this isn’t your thing move on. If it is….enjoy.
I’m pretty sure we (writers) all are. If the writer is capable of turning out good material like a conveyor belt with little to no distraction (life, internet, a cat biting her sunburned ankle at 4:30 in the fucking morning) than I envy them to the point of deserving death. I mean envy is one of the seven deadly sins after all. DEATH!
Ok, that may be a little bit overkill.
Point is…I suck. I haven’t finished a single short story since I decided to publish an anthology of them on the 31st of October. I’ve only written two blurbs on the short stories I do have when I was supposed to be posting one every Friday.
And the first week of October is almost over.
I think I started this crap in August. In my defense nature did try to flush us all away (you only got my car, Harvey!!! bahahaha!!), but excuses are just escapeisms. If I never try I can’t fail…you know?
What? That’s not failing. That’s totally succeeding at not attempting to do shit!
Success!
Of course 80 year old me (I was going to put 90 year old, but that might be pushing it considering my propensity for doing stupid shit…for science!) is going to be stupid pissed at the rest of my ages for not at least fucking attempting. (and I’m not talking posting shit on the internet thats probably already been stolen at least once)
Tomorrow is Friday. Short story blurb time. Tonight is game night. I should totally translate those crazy shenanigans into stories, but, goddammit, I suck at translating fact into the written media. I can write during game though. After I finish my budget and figure out how to live on a job that is not currently giving me a paycheck.
Blarg.
I miss writing about my life. I was trying to make this specifically a “hey look I’m an author” blog site, but that’s not entirely me and I totally need to do me (because I’m totally fucking hot ::grins::). So, if you enjoy getting peaks into the lives of strangers feel free to drop by. Things that will be in there:
-life as a cosplay mom
-my experiences in the world of kink
-dating a man 30 years older than me
-pirate shenanigans (I spell that word correctly about 1 in 5 times)
-What did Nyx do this time?
Until next time, your battle weary Raven is out.
Peace!
Battle Raven 