Twelve are all the things racing in my mind right now. Each fighting their to the forefront of my thoughts. Their jostling making it impossible to reach a conclusion or solution. The one night of orgasms (two!) I’ve had in the last two weeks didn’t even help me sleep. Having a grandmother who was addicted to pain medications and sleeping pills has made me very wary of taking anything for those ailments. But that hasn’t even stopped me this week as I need all the help I can get.
Twelve are the number of times I keep running our budget around in my head. Forgetting the electric payment one time and my student loan payment the next. Each time trying to make the numbers add up to something we can actually achieve. Each time coming up short. It’s a stress whirlpool that keeps sucking me in. Whenever I think I’ve cracked it I remember some bill and my depression spikes all over again.
Twelve is the number of times in the last hour I have changed my mind about asking my husband to remove my collar. Every time I think it would help me to get past the failure of our D/s relationship I touch it and can’t imagine it being gone. My two year-old grabs it when I pick him up. It’s been on my neck since before he was born. Not wearing it would feel like I am giving up on my submission. But while I am submissive I am not currently a submissive. Each time I think I have reached a clear opinion about it my heart pulls me the other way.
I’ve been thinking of twelve different sexual activities that I’ve been craving lately. Masturbation isn’t really hitting the spot lately. The time difference with Jack has been catching me up and we haven’t had a mutual session in awhile. And honestly, sex with myself while he’s 1,500 miles away is not one of my twelve cravings.
Twelve is the number of things that I need to be doing that I just can’t get the motivation for. I need to update my business website. I need to get our 2016 taxes around. Each time I sit down to do any of them I find a distraction, either purposefully or accidentally. Even things that should be fun or positive are avoided. Hell, I’ve started having anxiety attacks at the grocery store.
I’ve never felt more disparate than I have felt lately. I would say I feel like I’m split into twelve different pieces to stick with the theme, but it’s probably more than that. And I’m sure they will start fitting back together soon. Somehow.
In any case I’m trying not to make any big decisions right now. The collar is still on. Though I’m really not sure it’s his or my best interest to leave it that way. I can still be kinky and submissive without it. And it represents a relationship, a contract, that we don’t have anymore. Each time I reach for it and want to feel like a good girl it hurts more than reassures. And trust me, I have shed more than twelve tears for that.