I absolutely hate when I feel this way. I have so many things going on in my head right now, but none of of it seems to want to come out through my fingers. There are a dozen thoughts for what type of post to write tonight, thoughts for several of my "in-progress" books, thoughts for what to write for my latest request from a customer....but that's where it stops. Thoughts. No actual words. Nothing flowing from my fingers onto the screen. *sigh* Today has just been a rough day, all around. I woke up with a headache that feels like there is a very pudgy gnome whose job it is to sit on the very back of my brain (and he hasn't taken a lunch break, much less gone home for the day), I was given an assignment by BD which made me very uncomfortable but was completed nonetheless, and the dog that my roommate just got is not quite housebroken yet and seems to think my bed is a great place to do his business....'nuff said.
This is also the anniversary of my mother's death. Yeah, I know, death is not exactly the kind of subject that makes people want to keep reading...but it is what it is. While on the outside this subject does not have much if anything to do with the life I live with BD, deep down, it really does. My mother had a lot of flaws, but she was an amazing woman. She taught me a lot about life, unconditional love, and growing up. She let me live my own life, gave me advice when I needed it, but never condemned the choices I made, because they were my choices and I was the one who would have to live with the consequences. Every single day, from my birth until her death, I spoke to my mother. When I lived hundreds of miles away going to college or working, she was the first person I spoke to in the morning, the last person I spoke to at night, and the person I always called when anything happened in my life - good, bad, or ridiculous. Nine years after her death, I still reach for the phone when I have news, and it still hurts when I realize how futile that action is. She taught me lessons about being a wife and mother that I rely on every day. She also taught me about strength: keeping it when someone is trying to take it away from you and giving it when someone needs it. While my mother did not live a D/s lifestyle, she embodied me with the knowledge that no one can take what you are not willing to give and that no one can decide your worth for you. She helped me to understand that my desire to be who and what I am does not make me a less valuable person, no matter what society or anyone else deems proper behavior. She did this without knowing anything about D/s or my inclination for it. And when no one else in my life supported my relationship with BD, she did, because she looked past what others couldn't into the man that he truly is...and the man he is for me. I spent a lot of time with my mother during most of my life, but never more than when she was diagnosed with cancer. From that moment, I was with her 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I stayed with her in the hospital every time she was admitted. Though I have a hard time sometimes finding pride in myself (something BD and I are working on), I feel ultimately proud of that. My mother saw me take my first breath, and I saw her take her last.
I think I just needed to get that off my chest. The words feel like they may be ready to flow again. My block seems to have been emotional, and this post weakened it. I believe I can move on and get some work done, now that I have relieved some of that pressure.