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Archive for the ‘family’ Category

How long can I feel this super groovy? I hope a looooong time! The memory/deja vu/hopeful-excited-magic feelings I mentioned last week are still here and I feel GREAT. So great that I’m almost worried that I’m losing my marbles and trying to figure out what to attribute these good feelings to.

Is it the B vitamins? The D’s? The pressure being lifted from IRS after being forced to resign myself to accepting and even embracing whatever bad things might happen? Our deliciously mild winter (that could fuck up the winter olympics in Vancouver if the Pacific Northwest doesn’t get more snow)? Getting rid of DirecTV and reading more and enjoying each other more? Our new sound therapy machine with the delta wave inducing sounds (I usually dream so much that I don’t get deep dreamless sleep: a symptom of low serotonin levels/depression)? Is it that I’ve lost some weight? Is it going to twelve-step meetings? Is it just that I’m reading more and I FUCKING LOVE TO READ?!?

I don’t know, but IT IS GOOD! So I’m going to try to enjoy it and not worry that there’s something wrong with me. Goes to show how unhealthy I’ve been for so long that when I feel terrific for more than three hours I think maybe the sky is falling.

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I picked up my new weighted hula hoop today for more high jinks on the spycams! I also have a bollycardio dvd that we rented which I’ve only gone through once and am looking forward to doing more of. It’s jolly/silly camwatching goodness.

Speaking of camwatching goodness, we enjoyed some fucking yesterday and I hope our voyeurs did, too.

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On Friday and Saturday we had a great visit with my sister, brother-in-law and nephews which contributed to my heightened sense of awareness and positivity. Hanging around a three year old and an easily-delighted baby with a huge grin and dimples is like bathing in a clarifying happiness. Music sounds better, everything looks newer and more interesting and mysterious, and I have an excuse to read books aloud that were read to ME when I was little.

And hey, on top of that there is all of this boundless LOVE. On top of just loving those little guys to pieces, the amount of unconditional love I get from them is totally amazing. I’m forced to love myself more just being around them, in part because they do not see flaws but also because I want to always model un-self-conscious confidence to them; they make me love  myself more.

Maybe that’s what’s going on with me lately . . . better brain chemistry. Getting better sleep. Getting rid of the television — maybe having more oxytocin like from being around my nephews and my sister, but also from cuddling Delia and really being TOGETHER in bed instead of just staring at the tube all of the time. Maybe I’m just being flooded with a lot of girl juice: the loving, bonding chemicals, not necessarily the sexy ones.

Cuddling never used to help me fall asleep — it was more something I liked to do for a few minutes BEFORE unsticking bodies and going to sleep on my own side of the bed. Bizarrely enough, I’m actually finally starting to understand how great if feels to fall asleep nestled up to Delia. If I get in her armpit with her arm around me and my nose on her upper tit, I now get an instant jolt of SOMETHING I’ve never had with anybody else. Seriously, it’s some kind of a drug injection that I do think has something to do with oxytocin. Whatever it is, it’s BLISS. Tranquilizing and emotionally/sensually stimulating all at the same time.

It’s still sort of weird and foreign to me so I mostly continue my years-entrenched habit of nestling into my own don’t-touch-me space to sleep, but I think I’m going to try to get more of that business more often. I might need to work on my initiation technique though which consists of awkwardly trying to lift her arm up and demanding she “let me in”.

I hope no one is worrying that I’m still down-in-the-dumps and that’s why I haven’t posted since that last gloomy entry . . . I actually felt immediately better that night and my mood continued to improve when AmberLily and BigD got here the next day. It was nice to have Delia and AmberLily doing all of the work while BigD and I sat on the couch and in bed chatting and watching tv. It sucks we don’t all get to spend more time together.

On Sunday we had an early Thanksgiving with my family which included attempting to come out to my 90 year old grandma and explain that Delia is the same person she met before as Tucker. A story like that sounds like perfect blog fodder, but it was pretty anticlimactic after all of the drama leading up to it. I can’t even remember what I said or what she said: something like, “oh! well, nice to meet you . . . people do all kinds of things these days I guess” then to me, “it sure is nice  you have someone to go with you to the movies and on the ferry and things.” The woman is on so much vicodin for her arthritis and muscle spasms it’s hard to tell what she grasped, especially since she was totally blindsided by it since my mom pussied out on prepping her AT ALL. I think she was just happy to see me even if I appear to her to be some sort of a lesbian now. The woman has more pressing concerns managing her prolapsed vagina whenever she goes pee to give much consideration to my transsexual girlfriend (a term I don’t think really sunk in for her).

Between that excursion and a long trip yesterday for shopping-for-shoot-stuff and laser appointment, I’ve filled my quota for driving and ferry-riding/waiting and waiting for the bridge to open and being exposed to cat hair and flourescent lights and other things that run down people of My Delicate Constitution. Today I badly needed to shut myself up in the bedroom to read, snack, and watch bad television, blocking out all outside noises and people and light SO THAT’S WHAT I DID mostly. It annoys me how guilty I feel about doing things like that (and annoys other people because I constantly feel like I have to defend myself) especially when I realize most people with normal jobs have today OFF so maybe it’s okay if I do too (minus immediately dealing with computer/cam issues upon waking and doing a few minor tasks).

I feel like I should say something meaningful about Veterans Day or at least acknowledge that today is more than a “holiday” where I get to feel a-okay about being a lazy ass, but in a way that might be the best way I could have recognized the day this year by immersing myself in Americana like watching The People’s Court while eating skittles in bed and cracking open nuts at a frantic, OCD pace with my eyes glued to the boob tube. I hate the way the word “hero” is bandied about to describe every Tom, Dick and Harry who ever donned a fucking uniform but that’s not to say I don’t respect the enormity of their jobs and the huge consequences of doing them. I think the contemporary knee-jerk hero worship allows people to skim over veterans’ and their families’ losses and scars in the most superficial of ways that can’t even begin to address the lifelong damage and costs so many MANY people keep paying every day for the rest of their lives.

Since people are already playing Christmas music, here’s a quote and directive from one of my dad’s (a Korean war veteran) favorite Christmas songs:

Pray for peace, people. EVERYWHERE.

Normally I love fall, but it took so long for winter to go away this year that I’ve actually been apprehensive about letting go of the summer. Fortunately, we’ve had an extended Indian summer. Last week I *thought* it was over one night when I found myself craving heat, but this week it’s back. Sunny yesterday, sunny today . . . and clear for viewing the full moon last night and crone moon tonight.

It’s also been spider season with one lady in residence in our line of vision from bed in the corner of our sliding glass door:

Spider Lady & Half Moon

She’s been there every day and I know we should get rid of her big egg sac or we’ll have shitloads of spiders in our bedroom, but I haven’t been able to do that to her. I love seeing her there at least once a day and/or night. It doesn’t seem like the best place to have a web with us sliding the door open and closed and some of her anchors being attached to it. But I guess there’s no spot to weave a web that is completely invulnerable.

Lamp-lit spider on web.

Our dog’s much better after her trip to the vet’s. The x-rays didn’t show any arthritis but part of her spine had some degeneration, probably from aging in an area of past trauma which Delia thinks must have been from a time when she was a young dog and made a quick break out of the door of their house straight into the side of a moving car on a busy road, bounced off said car, then ran back inside never appearing any worse for the wear.

There have been times in the past nine months where Nico has seemed so old and uncomfortable and tired — and she IS old. Fourteen, I think. Everyone thinks she’s a puppy because she’s a runt of a husky and looks so young, up until recently when you see her walk, especially watching her from behind and her whole hind end just takes so much awkward effort to move. SOMETIMES. But if she’s excited? She’ll still bound and bounce and run around the house like crazy, even though, to me, her yips of excitement sound tinged with pain. I don’t think anything but the most debilitating pain can stop a husky from doing her husky things, so when we started noticing her having real problems has been at night when she can barely lie down and whimpers/cries like a squeaky wheel, circling around and around before painfully lowering herself down.

Anyway, the vet put her on prednisone, a steroid, which seems to be helping quite a bit. We took her on walks in the woods the past couple of days, which she loved even if she’s slowed down a lot since I met her and Delia seven years ago. Now her pace is really pleasant and companionable. She still runs ahead a little bit, but there are times when she actually walks right beside us, or takes breaks so she’s always close by.

Watching her yesterday on the trail looking so much better than she has in a couple of months I thought about how long it took for my dad to die and how unprepared I was for that. How there were so many times where I was impatient for it to happen already, for all of us to be put out of our misery of waiting, and then having days where he was present and I was so happy he was still around and it didn’t seem possible he was anywhere NEAR ready. At least, not nearly as ready as I recently had been. I feel that way a lot with Nico where I can’t help contemplating the convenience of her death one day when she seems uncomfortable, lethargic, and droopy-faced, then feeling overjoyed the next with how well she’s doing — how alert and happy she is, how it’s so not time yet — how YOUNG (for her age) she looks.

My ninth grade (and seventh grade) English teacher did something pretty fucking progressive and unheard-of for kids as young as we were in a public school: she taught us a section on Death and Dying. Practical planning stuff about funerals and wills, the Kubler Ross stages of grief, and of course literature like some story about a brave young man  with a brain tumor (title escapes me, but not the memory of how much I disliked that book) and one I’m forever grateful for being exposed to and having TAUGHT to me (not just read on my own), The Plague.

I remember all of us talking about what we wanted to happen to our bodies after we died and everyone laughing when I said I wanted to be dressed up like the Chiquita Banana Lady and thrown into the woods to rot and be scavenged by animals. Since then I’ve changed my mind, partly because I loved my dad’s funeral including seeing him all dressed up in his coffin that we picked out with special things tucked in to go with him, including stuffed animals that were ours, but that he kept after we outgrew them. I was shocked by how much I did not want his eyes to be plucked out for harvesting; I’d assumed he was ineligible for donating because of his glaucoma (which he was, but they weren’t aware of it so the question was posed to me anyway) and I was just totally unprepared by the topic even coming up even though of course we are all listed as organ donors, but MORE unprepared by how viscerally opposed I was to having his body — especially his eyes — taken out of him when I’d been looking into them MINUTES before that.

So. Aside from it being illegal to throw costumed dead women into the woods, I realize people have emotional, albeit irrational, attachments to the bodies of loved ones and I’ve even become attached the IDEA of my own dead body and perhaps want a more traditional type of ritual to accompany me to my final resting spot. Plus I’m extremely fond of coffins.

I asked Delia if she knows if people can come to our house to put Nico to sleep when the time comes so she can be at home and we can bury her. Delia said she’d prefer to take her to the vet’s. When I heard that I experienced another one of those irrational, emotional reactions (especially since Nico is really DELIA’S dog, not mine) of not being able to bear the thought of taking her to a place she’s afraid of and have to die there. I know it’s over fast, but having done that (thankfully only once and with a kitten we’d hardly had for any time at all) the drive there is just too fucking sad and crying your heart out in a clinic standing around in that sterile setting is just not the ideal to me. I am so glad my dad died in hospice where we got to hang out with his dead body for a few hours afterward (I probably wouldn’t have understood it before, but that is incredibly comforting and helpful, not to have to be seperated physically from each other right away), but obviously a seventy year old parent is pretty different from a fourteen year old pet.

We’re all smart enough to know that television and movies are inaccurate and unrealistic, but I personally never realized how much until my dad took years to die, and then again especially during the days and hours surrounding his actual death. I felt and still feel very unprepared for the process of death by aging and protracted illness. My mind is still boggled by the concept that all of us, if we are lucky, have to watch our parents die. I don’t feel like I was taught to expect that or how to process that even though I’ve probably been given more tools and experiences to deal with that than most post-baby-boom American kids have. I’d had friends who lost parents way too young and I knew it was devastating to them and in some cases they even talked about it a little, but not nearly enough to ever intimate exactly how huge that loss was. I and my dad were not too young, it wasn’t a tragedy, and it’s still hard and has taken SO LONG. I mean, it’s still not over for me. I’m still shocked by the revelation that death is never over or never not coming and that it’s VISIBLE and active for So. Many. Years. I’m trying to accept that with Nico . . . even to use her as practice and I am flummoxed at how ill-prepared I still am . . . how disbelieving, impatient, sad, and scared I am in spite of feeling that’s not really in my nature. I feel like I’m the kind of person who should be able to embrace aging-towards-death gracefully, with serenity instead of blubbering.

I don’t even know how my mom has handled the past thirteen years, seeing her own dad’s decline and death, living with and taking care of my dad/her ex-husband (they continued to have a fond and extremely helpful dysfunctional relationship even after his death), packing up the house she grew up in and moving her mom out of it and into first one home, then another, and now a third offering an even higher level of care. I really do not fucking know. I don’t think she really knows either, but I know it’s a lot harder for her than she’s gotten help for, and my distance from her doesn’t help. What I still idiotically fail to GRASP is how this is THIS LARGE a part of life. Because tv never taught me that and even though my family has always talked openly about these things and plans for when we die, I still can’t remember exactly what I’m supposed to do with my mom’s ashes and I still can’t believe that IF I AM *LUCKY*, I will live through many more loved ones’ deaths. I read so many young adult books about death — GOOD books about a girl whose dad was shot about a kid with Lou Gehrig’s disease about drug addicted kids . . . about pretty much every kind of unanticipated death you or someone you know could have but not so much about the deaths we all aspire to without any proper planning.

What is the life span of a spider? I have no clue. I am still trying to brace myself for the day this season when I look out the window and in the cracks around the sides and she’s not there and doesn’t come back.

Some of you’ve been wondering how our family get-together with my brother went after my agonizing in this post; fortunately, it went fine but I’m still so glad it’s OVER so I can stop stressing out over it.

We made the trek out to my mom’s yesterday and had a fairly nice visit. Sometimes I worry that Delia’s just receding into the background and that some of that’s my fault, but then it always seems that one person in a couple is the quiet hanger-back. Like my brother’s wife who mostly hung out in the kitchen. Some people are so quiet and pleasant those of us who are more obnoxious just naturally steamroll them.

Anyway, there was no mean-spirited or overt bullshit to be had towards us, though I did wonder when thank you’s for the presents we brought came from the kids and I got all the hugs and thanks why that was . . . because I’m the one who’s actually related to them (though haven’t seen them in eight years, since one was newborn)? Because Delia’s trans? Because I didn’t do a good job of introducing Auntie Delia? Or just because I was the one standing there with open arms, like “HUG YOUR AUNTIE, DAMMIT!” while Delia was behind me on the couch and less accessible/approachable/talkative? And then that firm handshake my brother gave Delia after hugging me goodbye seemed to have an awkward masculine edge to it, but whatever.

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On our way home from our family visit we got together briefly with AmberLily and her husband (Tiny aka BigD) who is too witty and well-read for me to get his jokes which mostly seem to consist of teasing us for being Democrats. They go right over my head and I wind up staring at him, completely bewildered, wishing I could keep up. Fortunately he’s nice enough to try to meet in the middle, patiently reminding me, for example, of my Third Amendment rights (so I could understand the joke he was making) even when I obtusely ignored his explanation. Maybe if we got to spend more time hanging out then AmberLily wouldn’t have to try to translate for us, “and now BigD is joking; that was a reference to the obscure blank and blankety blank.” Anyway, I hope I haven’t gotten them banned from their local McDonald’s because I kept saying the “F” word and loudly talking about wet WET pussy, something I’m far more familiar with than our Constitution.

My point is, I love them and BigD should be an internet celebrity.

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Normally when we go back to the area east of Seattle where I grew up I’m thankful we don’t live there, but yesterday the summer air was too seductive and familiar for me to not want to have more of it. It smelled heavily of home, especially driving through shady places along rivers. My mom’s yard felt so lush and green and bushy and the porch was so . . . porchy? With the screen door? Our dog looked like she was going to melt right into the cool grass, unlike here where all the grass is dry, short, and totally dead. It smells like saltwater and high wind and dry things where we live, but where I grew up it smells like a humid valley in the summer where every dog bark is magnified – sounds don’t blow away where I grew up. I hate that, but it’s still home.

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Little cell phone pic on our way home.

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Delia’s putting the finishing touches on the letter she’s writing to her parents who still don’t know she’s trans.

Just a quick post to say that my sister and nephews will be here soon and staying for a couple of nights SO most of our cams and audio will be down, or up and down depending on where they are, etc. Our office cams will be up but we probably won’t be in there too much since we haven’t seen infant Skywalker since he was born last month or Mr. Squishypants since even before that. We even missed his three year birthday party, but that’s okay because now he can open his presents from us and they’ll be the ONLY presents for the day and his aunties won’t have to compete for his attention. Because that’s how you behave when you don’t have children of your own.

I’m struggling under the weight of a lot of things right now. Nothing that should be debilitating, but the end result is that I’ve been acting almost completely disabled. Money problems, health problems, overwhelming-to-do-list problems, incompetency problems . . . you know, life.

The struggle on my mind right now is trying to figure out how much energy to expend on conservative friends and family who have issues with my work and/or with my partner being a transwoman. Not that they know that word. And I should be patient because how many people DO? It’s not THEIR fault, right? And with me being in the kind of relationship where I even USE the term “my partner”. My girlfriend. My not-a-man not-a-husband not-a-boyfriend.

My mom has been struggling with how to tell HER mom (my grandma) and her born-again-Christian-asshole brother (my uncle) so I haven’t even seen my grandma in way over a year.

God, it makes me tired even trying to blog about this bullshit.

Now one of my step-brothers, the one I WANT to be in touch with a little, is coming out with his family for a visit next month. My mom visited them in Pennsylvania last year before the election and came back so disturbed by his wacko right-wingerism that she doesn’t really even want to see them again (AND didn’t even want to get into the basics of telling him anything about my controversial-to-them “lifestyle”).

Delia’s family in the Midwest still doesn’t know about her transition. We had a plan for telling them that we cooked up with her therapist who said that ideally you shouldn’t break the news in a letter, but face to face. We tried to get them to come out here last year so Delia would meet them at the airport presenting as a male (a concept that now seems totally ludicrous, uncomfortable and weird to me), she’d sit down with them and tell them all about it, the next day she’d present as a woman, and we’d all go see the therapist so they could learn about transgender. A nice idea, but there’s no way to lure them out here when the REST of Delia’s family is in the Midwest and her dad can’t take time off work; it just makes more sense for us to visit them there.

So Delia’s parents offered to buy us tickets to come out for a visit, like, RIGHT NOW. It would work out perfectly for the whole coming-out-face-to-face (except we wouldn’t be able to take them to our counselor) BUT Delia already changed her name so in order for them to buy a ticket she could actually get on a plane with, she’d need them to know ahead of time her real femme name (or we’d have to buy the tickets ourselves which we can’t afford to do right now). So after some soul-searching and discussion she decided to write a letter which she’s still working on.

As the word “transition” implies, it’s a process. And part of that process is . . . all of this bullshit of informing, educating, explaining, confronting, and dealing with loved ones and not-so-loved ones.

It made me feel sad when my mom said she doesn’t know if she wants to see my brother / can’t handle his fucked-up views. And I know it makes HER sad, too, but I feel like it will only be a few hours and it would be wrong to shut him out completely. I wouldn’t say this about my other stepbrothers or about my ex-stepdad, but this brother? I would. So I wrote him and his wife an email about “my lifestyle” so they wouldn’t be hit with surprises and wouldn’t ask about my job in person if they aren’t comfortable hearing me talk about what it really is (and told them, in short form, that I make adult websites). And the wheels are turning and they’re paying lip service to not judging other people, but copping to being “REALLY conservative”. And expressing concern over their seven year old daughter. He doesn’t want her to have to “learn too much about life” at this tender age. Like, what aspect of life does he feel he needs to shelter her from or that I’m going to so-inappropriately expose her to?

As usual I can’t help comparing my apparently depraved lifestyle with other people in our family and in Delia’s family. In both of our families there are those who have HUGE problems with my job, yet think nothing of letting the children be around people in the family who’ve actually sexually molested other family members. Nobody objects to the lifestyle of the family members who worked for the chemical company that made Napalm and Agent Orange and other killers and cancer-causers. When I had a husband who worked for Boeing, it never bothered anybody in the slightest (including me) that a family member worked for a company that makes machines of war. Their job is something to be proud of, but MY job is a big, scary, society-eating disease. Excuse me, but as much as you try to fallaciously connect porn depicting consensual sex and non, I DIDN’T DO THIS TO KIDS. Not even close. My brother doesn’t have a problem with his kids being around one of his other brothers who has stolen cars and served in Iraq and laughs with glee at videos of US soldiers beating and kicking the shit out of Iraqis. But oh, GOD!! WHAT will we tell the children about Trixie and her tranny girlfriend or that she has a job making grown-ups feel pleasure?

I know it’s hard, but it’s not THAT hard. Especially given the truly fucked up things that people are perfectly willing to ignore, live with and even brag about. He’s a soldier! He’s a chemical engineer! He works for the military industrial complex!! So easy to boast about. And even those other people who have actually HURT people — kids — get the benefit of the doubt: He deserves a second chance. But how many people boast about “my daughter, the pornographer!”? Actually, my mom does and my dad did. In small amounts, but still. They are extra ballsy and good. And I guess if all these little things are hard, I still have that to be extra specially grateful for and don’t know what I’d do without it.

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It would be easier in the short run to just say we’re going to be busy. Too busy to see my step-brother and his family. Too busy to fly out to the Midwest. Too busy to communicate on any deeper level with old friends than filling out those email quizzes about what our favorite colors and drinks are and coming up with a different reason than the real one for the last thing that made us cry.

I could do that (and have and still will to some extent), but sometimes you have to TRY. Because they’re family or because you really need a better reason than fear and exhaustion to sever ties with them. No, you have to try your hardest to be patient with their ignorance and fears and confusion (thankfully people have been patient with MINE). You have an obligation to make yourself fucking vulnerable to being told that what you do — whether it’s selling pictures of your beaver on the internet or it’s defying the status quo of letting your genitals define your gender or it’s being in a non-straight relationship — that you’re destroying the moral fibre of the country, tearing families apart, degrading humanity, and damaging our sensitive youngsters and oldsters who shouldn’t be EXPOSED to our depravity and perversion in their fragile mental and physical states!

You have to be gentle with them while they insult you and beg for your protection. Oh but mom is just too old to understand . . . oh god, I just don’t want to upset Grandma Seriously? These women have televisions and they’ve all HAD SEX. When I’m in my eighties I hope people don’t think I’m too stupid to understand new shit or that I can’t handle knowing that some women charge men money to get their dicks hard. I think they can handle it, and if they can’t? OH WELL. I wish someone would protect OUR feelings for a change. Like maybe not insulting the girl on the television for having “too masculine of a jaw” right when you’re sitting next to my trans girlfriend
who might feel self-conscious enough as it is about her OWN masculine jaw. Like maybe not saying that I’m going to warp your seven year old when YOU are the one warping her with your stupid, bigoted views.

I know I’m being a baby to complain about it because so many people have had it so much worse, but I’m *sick* of coming out to people and trying to hold their hands through the process when I just want to scream at them. It feels like such a gigantic waste of time and energy for me, personally, when I don’t even LIKE socializing with people. But I know it’s not healthy to take the easy way out and be isolated. I know that talking to people makes a difference, not just to us, but in teaching tolerance and understanding on a broader level.

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Basically I just feel bogged down. Getting together with family is expensive enough, emotionally & financially, and communicating with old friends that you aren’t sure you have anything in common with anymore takes enough of a toll, that having to pay all these extra costs is really draining. It’s like walking through a field of land mines every time you connect with someone who doesn’t know who you are and what you’re doing lately. Are they going to freak out or pat me on the back and laugh? Should I brace myself for them to say something inadvertently hurtful or let myself trust them to be wiser than that?

Once I started writing this blog entry I realized that the most important thing we can do when it comes to friends and family right now is to cultivate our relationships with people who FUCKING GET IT. Our porn friends, our trans friends, our not-so-straight friends. I’m not very socially energetic but there’s no way I can cope with some people’s bullshit without having the comfort of other people’s understanding and similarities. And I can’t help sort of resenting the amount of energy I’m putting into the one camp when I could be pouring it into the other. OR WORK.

Jesus, I can’t afford this bullshit. Including my own — all I want to do is sleep and read and eat and listen to music. I feel sort of guilty and wretched and oh-so fucking tired.

I tossed and turned for hours last night and eventually got really aroused so I woke Delia up slowly by playing with her nipples, first over her shirt and then under her shirt. Then I rearranged her arm, spreading it out along my pillow so I could nestle against her and start sucking her tits, moving my hand down to play with her cock (which I eventually sucked too, but just a little because mostly I wanted to fuck her).

Almost every single doorknob in this house is busted or only half-works, including the one to our bedroom. With the windows open in the house all night to keep us cool in the warm weather, our bedroom door gets sucked open and slammed shut. Last night a phantom breeze opened so I let it stay that way even though my mom was asleep in our guestroom down the hall. I knew she wouldn’t wake up, but still tried to be quiet. For once it was Delia instead of me who couldn’t be quiet. Her boobs are SO sensitive.

Sometimes when I can’t make noise during sex it sucks, and other times it allows me to focus even more on the sensations I’m feeling. Like last night when I came. Hard, clamping down. And then made Delia come inside me.

I still couldn’t fall asleep so I sort of meditated on the feeling of stickiness where my ass cheeks meet my thighs and smelling my pussy and her semen all mixed together on my fingers. Eventually I turned on my booklight and looked at my fingertips shining from the moisture reflecting the blue light.

*****

We had a really nice visit with my mom who drove all the way out here spontaneously to spend a couple of days with us. It worked out well without any other family here and with the weather nice enough to get out of the house. My mom needs to have activities and I guess so do I when we’re together because otherwise all of the chatting winds up getting to me. We tired her out with a long walk and before that I took out an instructional stretch DVD, one that I’ve given her a copy of along with a yoga mat but that she never uses (I used to call her every day to ask her if she’d done it, but it didn’t help her and just seemed to make her feel guilty). I worry about her lack of flexibility because she’s getting older, but mostly because I know how much better *I* feel when I spend even a little bit of time stretching on a regular basis. I wanted her to see how easy it is just to do five minutes of it without going all crazy and still get something positive out of it.

Later we got on the subject of Bea Arthur dying and my mom started crying. My mom is now the same age as the characters were on The Golden Girls. She said it seems like it was just yesterday that show was on and now Dorothy and Sophia are dead. She said it made her realize how little time she might have left — what a small window of opportunity she has. My hypersexed mom even admits that now she sometimes gets sick of her boyfriend wanting to have as much sex as he does.

I don’t know if it was because of that in part or in whole, but last night my body felt powerful and I felt younger than I have in a long time. I felt supple and juicy and ripe and full of energy. I felt like my body was tall and everything was in line. My breasts felt big and ripe and heavy and swinging. I felt like an hourglass with the top and the bottom perfectly balanced. I actually felt graceful instead of unwieldy when I climbed on top of Delia. I felt potent and came fast without getting out of breath.

I was still awake later while they were asleep. I crept around the house. I made something to eat in the kitchen. I looked at the moon mostly hidden behind the clouds and a bright planet that must have been Jupiter sparkling to the east of it.

I’m like my mom in a million ways, but unlike her in a million others. Mainly I am just younger than she is. I guess it should be hard to see my mom struggling with her own life changes and not knowing where she’s going — it IS hard — but I also can’t help celebrating, first that she seems more focused on one important thing instead of a million trivial distractions from the one thing and second, celebrating myself and where I am and what I have and all that I still have to look forward to. That my mom has challenges, but she STILL has a lot of opportunity and a lot of growth and good health to enjoy and grapple with (and I have all of that to look forward to also — but MORE of it). That she is better off than her mom is and was at her age. And that I’m so so SO much better off than either of them were when they were mine. Inside and outside and in every conceivable way. And that makes my life and my body and where and how I’m living them feel like a huge evolving miracle that I have a RESPONSIBILITY to celebrate partially on their behalf, fucking and walking and dancing.

*****

Tonight and tomorrow we have webcam shows and members-only chat scheduled.

We have a new nephew! After a long labor he wound up having to be born via c-section and then had something called a pneumothorax where there was air in his chest cavity. Delia and I were “lucky” enough to get to watch the doctor fix it by thrusting a needle into his tiny chest and having the nurse use a syringe connected to it to suck out the extra air. It was all very stressful, emotional and interesting.

Now we’re away from home again at a conference where I’m probably going to spend most of the day withdrawn in our hotel room because I’m totally drained. Over the past month we’ve driven thousands of miles and I’m very sick of it and just want to spend a long week appearing completely catatonic, living only inside my head and lying under a giant pile of blankets and pillows. I’ve been eating comforting crap (lots of potato stuffs and pasta) to compensate for feeling rubbed raw and the thought of having to make eye contact and concentrate on what anyone is saying hurts my fragile head. I hope I feel more social by Wednesday and Thursday when we have camshows scheduled.

The GOOD news is that one of our dear friends is reviving her sites and inserting them into our network. I also finally got started on redesigning my site; it’s very simple so it won’t take much to finish it and finally not feel outdated (even though the design is so simple as to be retro-amateur).

Delia told me today’s Star Wars Day so I thought I better post something. About how my own life force has been idling; maybe my new estrogen-heavy birth control pill is making it so it takes ten hours to wake up and all I want to do is gobble up food. MAYBE. Or maybe I’m just a Very Sleepy Lard Ass.

Anyway, everything is sort of on hold here while we wait for my sister to go into labor. Due to our far-flung location on the Olympic Peninsula and our usual route to Seattle being severed by a major bridge being closed for six weeks, I’ve been really anxious about how we’ll manage to get to Seattle in time to see our second nephew being born. I’m finally calming down about it now, but I did go on a late-night rampage through our town channeling my mother as I stood on the dock screaming, “ALL I WANT IS A FUCKING FERRY SCHEDULE!! GODDAMN IT I HATE THIS FUCKING TOWN!!”

Okay, I didn’t really do that, but I totally WANTED to, which made me start laughing hysterically in the same exact way my mom does after she’s loudly expressed her feelings in a public place, much to the shock and awe of all spectators. Sometimes people in this town are helpful in every single annoying way they possibly can be without being at all capable of delivering the one thing you do want. Yes, I fucking KNOW the ferry schedule is online. Actually we CAN get to Bremerton with the bridge being closed, it will just take longer (you may be older than I am, lady, but have you ever looked at a fucking MAP?). No, I do NOT want your six-month-old schedule nor do I want to call the Department of Transportation for the schedule. I want the fucking fold-out piece of paper that does not require speaking to anybody or having an internet connection.

Ferry schedules are one of those types of items that are always littering your cars and house when you don’t need them but are impossible to locate when you do. And the people in this town are lovely, they just really drive me batshit sometimes. I don’t feel the need to reach a group consensus with strangers on the best way to get to Seattle. I can still see the tortured looks on three people’s faces as they begged me to stay at the quickie-mart so they could offer their useless advice on guiding me to the right ferry even as I told them they couldn’t possibly help me unless they know the exact time my sister is going into labor. Because there are at least five different routes we could take that are all dependent on what day of the week and time of day we leave and whether or not the wind is blowing hard enough to knock out the closest ferry.

Okay. I promise to stop ranting about this to every/anyone who will listen (unless someone has the audacity to try to make a travel suggestion to me in the comments; if that happens, I will recommence ranting). I’ve procured the schedule (which totally conflicts with the information online) and the only thing we can do now is wait. Or leave early and be stuck there for days since watched pots never boil.

*****

I have a sneaking suspicion my gigantic hunger, lethargy, and the mild cramps I’ve had all week will go away as soon as my sister delivers. Until then I’ve been spending more time off cam than I usually do, hiding in our “secret” rooms, getting some private time before we have sleepless hours of family time that includes watching my little sister go through immense physical trauma and then experiencing the amazingly beautiful emotional wreckage that goes along with welcoming a new member of the family into the world.

Or maybe I just need to readjust my sleep and work schedule and give in to my night-owl tendencies. Sometimes I’m able to behave normally, sometimes not. Could be a seasonal thing. Or allergies. Or that I’m just insane in the membrane. Or all of the above.

As usual, I’ve got more interesting (to you) posts to make and pictures to share, but I wanted to spit out the quick and dirty daily details before going to bed. More of them here on DailyTrixie.