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Unexpected Love notes

I had another post planned for today.  I have a list of things that I want to write about but the writing didn’t come easy this weekend.  I had planned to write all day yesterday but Saturday brought some emotional baggage that pretty much crippled me.  I was in bed for most of yesterday.  It was something I knew would pass and resolved itself pretty quickly.  I decided I would give myself some time to process the emotions that I was feeling.  No writing, just me and my thoughts.

I have always thought it was important to take time for ourselves.  I am not good at this and I am working hard at getting better and taking the time I need.  I am a chameleon of sorts.  I’ll usually go with the flow I am in.  I am also, in more ways than one, a submissive.  We all know or have some connotation of the sexual side of this, but I am also submissive in my vanilla life.  Everyone else that I love and care for (and some I don’t care for) I usually put first and try very hard to make them happy.  I will put my needs aside and try my best to make the world happy (or at least my world) so keeping my emotions inside has always been my go to.

This weekend my daughter and I had to revisit some really tough memories and experiences.  We got through it together with good conversation and understanding, but not without reopening wounds that perhaps were not quite healed.  We have always had a connection and she knew I was struggling.  I will write another blog to outline what happened but for now, the point of this blog is to simply honor her.

She lived in Florida for a few years and recently moved back home to live with me.  She worked most of the weekend but came home Saturday and realized I was struggling.  We talked about what I was going through and worked it out, through tears and conversation.  Even in the struggle, I was able to see the beautiful woman she had become.  Calm, sensible, loving, caring, heartbroken that she may have hurt me.  It was hard but beautiful at the same time.  I know a lot of parents struggle with their post-high school children.  My girl has been through a lot and it hasn’t always been easy.  Seeing her all teary and struggling is always hard, partly because she rarely cries in front of people. Mainly, because this time I could tell she was struggling because she thought she hurt me.  It is a wonderful thing to be able to have these kinds of conversations with her.  The open, honest, heart-wrenching kind.  No texting, facetime, or phone calls.  Face to face, ugly cry with no tissues, honest words.  It was hard as hell.

The next day it was cleared up but those kinds of things tend to linger.  She left for work and gave me a kiss on my forehead as I still lay in bed.  She texted during the day to make sure I was feeling alright.  A simple conversation, no longer hanging on the issue but letting me know she was still thinking about me.  She came home, complimented the dinner I made, when in fact, I burned it.  Kissed me good night.

Today at work, I opened my lunch bag and found a note.  A very simple handwritten note from her that said she loved me to the moon and back with her signature, a heart.

I love this young woman.  She is my heart.  For everything we have been through we are stronger than I could ever imagine.

When we are struggling it is the little things that can sometimes make us feel better.  Sometimes, the little things aren’t so little.

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Blocked

She stared at the screen.  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  No thoughts.  No ideas.  Nothing.  The hum of the neighborhood activity was subtle but noticeable.  Maybe that was the problem.  She walked across the room and switched on the fan.  It wasn’t warm inside.  It was the perfect temperature.  October finally brought the cooler weather.  The neighborhood had started decorating for fall.  The contrast of pumpkins and straw in yellows and orange colors to the Holloween decorations of witches and spider webs and skeletons littered her street.  She should make an effort of some sort in one way or the other.

She was naked.  She was usually naked when at home at night.  It was a habit.  One from the past but not one she was ready to break.  The writing was on the schedule.  Follow the schedule.  That didn’t always mean the writing would be successful but she had to follow the schedule.   Maybe the white noise from the fan was what she needed.  She walked across the room and switched on the fan.  Settling back down at the laptop, fingers poised over the keys… nope nothing.

Maybe her expectations were too high.  It had been a rough day.  More memories of the past.  More issues with the family.  More drama at work.  More everything.  She needed a break.  She needed to clear her head.  She shut the laptop, wrapped her robe around her and walked out to the back deck.  The air was cool and there was a breeze that felt good on her skin.  She sat down in the chair and lit the cinnamon scented candle on the table.  She started mentally making a list of fall type things she needed to do.  She thought she should get her phone and make notes.  No.  She needed a clear head.  No thinking, no planning, not a phone or laptop.  She closed her eyes.  The breeze seemed to be getting stronger and even cooler.  Her body felt warm under the robe.

She loosened the knot on the tie around her waist.  She was suddenly aware that she didn’t want her robe on.  Clearing her mind had always been difficult.  She tried meditation and everything but she always had a million thoughts flying through her mind.  She wanted the cool air on her body.  She stood from the chair,  opening her robe and let it fall to the ground.  She was exposed.  That was one more thought in her brain.  Then the following; could the neighbors see her, did she care, yes she did, no she didn’t, would they like what they saw, would they call the police to report her, did she care, yes she did, no she didn’t… her mind would not stop.

She stepped off the deck.  The grass was wet from the previous rain and the night dew.  Her feet sank into the soil.  It was soggy, muddy.  It was cooler then she thought it would be, but it wasn’t unbearable.  Her normal body temperature was typically cool and she was always cold.  Tonight it was welcomed.  She was hot inside.  She needed relief from the thoughts that swarmed her head.  Or did she need the release.

Her thoughts of him came to the front of her brain.  She had worked hard all week to keep them at bay.  Tonight, naked in the moonlight with the cold soil under her feet and the threat of exposure her filters were thin, her defenses were down.  She allowed him to come to her.  His face first.  The smile that always said he wanted her.  His voice second.  The voice that said “good girl” when she had done well.  Then his touch.  That touch that always made her feel alive.

She closed her eyes and allowed the thoughts and memories to invade her.  She pulled memories from different times they had been together.  Her body was hotter now.  She felt the heat between her legs.  She heard his voice, “on your knees,” and she knelt in the wet grass.  His hands were on her.  Squeezing her nipples gently at first, then with added pressure.  His hands went to her pussy and she gasped at his fingers entering her.  His fingers running up her body leaving a trail of her juices behind.  He whispers, “on your back”.  She lays back and feels the cold wet grass on her back.  Her mind is reeling.  It is ok now.  He is here.  He is with her.  She stretches out on the grass.  Her eyes are still closed but she knows the moon is shining on her body.  Her hand reaches for her clit.  She wants to come so badly.  His voice again, “I didn’t tell you to play with your pussy”.  She remembers the time she was chastised for touching herself without permission.   “I’m sorry Sir” she whispers out loud.  His voice again, “Its ok my slut”.  His hands again, inside her pussy, stroking her, one finger, two fingers, three fingers.  She feels fuller, wetter.  Her clit is pulsing and she is aching.  His smell this time, the cologne, Cold Water for men.  Strong like him.  subtle like him.  His hand again, inside her, the other squeezing her nipple, hard this time.  Pinching her nipple between his thumb and middle finger.  There was more pressure that way, he liked using his middle finger.  She felt electric from her cunt to her nipple, a constant current.  She pressed her back into the soil.  Her hips raised.  His voice again, “Don’t you dare come”.  Her eyes rolled back in her head. She was going to come.  She was going to defy him.  She couldn’t help herself.  The current through her body was unbearable.  His laugh this time, low and slightly evil.  His voice, “you can’t help yourself can you little slut?”  She raised her hips, digging her heels into the ground feeling the pressure on her shoulders as the weight of her body shifted.  His fingers on her clit, his voice in her ear, his smell, his breath, him touching her, fucking her, squeezing her.  Surrounded by him.  She felt the intense pressure on her clit.  It was swelling, stinging.  She felt her orgasm coming.  Her legs tightened as her hips raised higher.  Her back arching and her shoulders pressing harder into the ground. Her body started to shutter, slowly at first, then faster and more intense.  She wasn’t sure if it was her body or the ground shaking.  Fingers on her clit, rubbing in circles, fast and with pressure.  The trembling in her legs made it hard to keep her hips raised but she couldn’t lower them or the orgasm would stop.  His smell was stronger.  His voice in her ear, “now, baby, come now.”  Finally the permission she needed.  She pushed her hips as high as she could.  She clenched her teeth to stop the scream forcing through her throat.  Clenching her lips tight as the orgasm rocked her body, the noise came forth as a moan deep in her throat.  Her legs gave out and her hips hit the ground with force.

She rolled to her side and pulled her legs to her as she curled herself into a ball.  The orgasm still pulsing through her as arms wrapped around her knees.  Her pussy clenching closed as the last of the orgasm left her body.  She laid there until her body was still.   Feeling the last of the orgasm leave her body with the last clench of her pussy she tried to move. She was panting.  Quiet moans, whimpers, passing her lips.   Her legs were heavy.  Her stomach muscles were tight and she willed them to relax as her breathing went back to normal.  She slowly started to stretch out her legs.  They were cramped and fought movement.  Her mind slowing now.  Her breathing normal now.  She pushed her body up to a sitting position.  Her hair was wet, a mix of dew from the ground and sweat from her body.  She was cold now.  The tremors of the orgasm now replaced with shivers from the cold air and wet ground.  She opened her eyes.   His touch, his voice, his smell, gone.  She was alone.  He had fucked her through her mind, through her thoughts and memories of him.

She felt the come drain from her as her body shifted positions.  It was warm in contrast to her body temperature.  She reached down to catch it in her fingers before it was lost to the grass.  She rubbed it into her skin.  Just as she had done so many times before with his come.  This time it was only her hands, her touch, her come.

 

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Masturbation Monday

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Single and Submissive

As soon as I think I have an original thought or question, my BDSM community comes to show me I am not alone.  Others are struggling and dealing with some of the same issues.  I am not blazing any trails.  I am grateful for that!  Loving BDSM podcast with Kayla Lords and John Brownstone never cease to help me make sense of my stuff, hitting the nail on the head with good conversation and strong information.  Also thanks to @ThePrincessRara for asking for a discussion on the subject.

Recovery after a breakup is a touchy and very individual thing.  Do you go into self-improvement mode or self-destruction mode?  In any kind of relationship, the end is tough.  It doesn’t matter if there is still a friend or working relationship or it is more final with no contact at all.  My past relationships have always had lingering connections.  The break up with my D/s relationship is no different.  I enjoy doing things for people.  All people, not just my Dom.  It is my nature.  I will always be the first to offer help.  Being submissive came so easy for me.  The sexual aspects were also a very natural process for me.  I miss it every day.  Being a single submissive can kind of suck.  Actually, it more than sucks.  It is a consistent unfulfilled need that just never fades.  The memories of the rituals I had with my Dom were ever present.  Every day after he left me was a constant reminder of the things I had done for him, or by his request.  My nail color, my hair color, the clothes I wear, the way I drive to work.  It was sad when I would go to do something or had a question and I couldn’t reach out to him. I had to figure something out because I was going crazy.  Everything BDSM was hurtful.  The happiness other subs were expressing.  Writing was painful.  I always wrote about him and our experiences.  Without him, I felt like all my words were gone.  I was jealous of everyone that was having good sex, vanilla or kinky.   I remember the one day, standing in my bedroom staring in the mirror and not knowing what I should do or who that person was looking back at me.  I still felt compelled to ask him everything.  Knowing that I couldn’t reach out was devastating.  I was frozen.  I needed a plan without him.

I started my own rituals and routines.  The problem was, there were somethings I didn’t want to change.  I liked his suggestions.  He always seemed to know me better than I knew myself.

  •  I would always ask him what color he wanted my nails.  He had favorites that we repeated.  So when I went to get them done and couldn’t ask, I picked a shade he liked but put a spin on it that was my own.
  • I wore the clothes he had picked for me but changed the shoes or added jewelry that I had but never wore with him.
  • I used a different perfume that I had had for a while that he didn’t care for.  Gone was the jasmine scent that he required and preferred.

I kept some things the same because it had become part of my life for so long, it was more me than him.  I decided I could thank him for those things and not change them.  Loving BDSM talked about “being your own sub”.  I gave that a try.  I set rules that I would follow for myself.

  • I set a writing schedule – writing was still really painful.  But I set the schedule and even if I just opened the laptop and stared at it, at least I was following the schedule.
  • I set a gym schedule – sometimes this was just changing into my gym clothes and walking to the gym at work and sitting in the locker room.  I was pathetic and I knew it.  But, I had set the schedule and was determined to stick with it, even if I didn’t work out.
  • I set a social media schedule – Most of the social media was making me sad.  I realized I was reading through these posts and I was just so cynical about everything I read.  I limited myself to 15 minutes a day unless I was working on my writing.  This was a good move.  Being present in my life was not a fun place to be but being present in everyone else’s wasn’t a good thing either.

I researched BDSM and the different kinds of kinky things that were out there.  He and I had started a conversation about what I like and was interested in. We never finished the conversation.

  • I decided to research the things in the book he showed me on my own – what I liked, what I didn’t.  What interested me, what worried me.
  • I searched for more podcast that I could listen to and learn from – Getting other perspectives was important.  My BDSM was under his umbrella so it was nice to see other perspectives.
  • I researched the Dominant side of things to get a better understanding of that side of the relationship – This was so valuable and something all subs should do.  I found some answers and also found more questions as to why things went the way they did.  Keeping in mind everything is individual in BDSM but it was helpful.

Finding support!  I never had anyone to talk to about my life and my situation.  Most people assumed I was single and just hanging out with friends.  Most people had no idea what I was going through.  So finding support for a break up that no one knew about or even understood the intricacies or was difficult. I had no one to talk to.  Silent suffering is usually my way, but this was different.  Whenever I was hurting I would always go to him first.  He was gone so where do I go now?

  • The BDSM community!  Twitter, a place a rarely spent time became my go to.  I may or may not have broken my 15-minute rule on some occasions.  I had more support there than I knew.  I felt like a stalker at times.  I felt like I was whining most of the time.  But the support there, direct or indirect, was invaluable.
  • Journaling.  This was a weird thing for me.  I had never really journaled because I was always afraid someone would read what I wrote.  I decided I didn’t care.  I wrote online and on paper.  I left the journals laying around the house and didn’t care if anyone would see them.  Always before I had hidden my thoughts.  Now I realized for the first time in my life, I was single, I was alone, it didn’t matter.  They were my thoughts to do with what I wanted.

These are the things I did.  The processes I adapted.  They may not work for everyone, but they had an impact in a positive way for me.  I still struggle.  I still miss him, every day.  I still have moments of complete and utter dismay that he is gone and no longer in my life, but also an office away, three blocks away, a text away.  I remind myself to breathe.  I remind myself to be good to myself.  I remind myself to take things one day at a time.

 

 

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I’m in love with your potential

Sometimes it is a statement that you hear randomly throughout the day. Sometimes, it is an original thought. Today, it was a song lyric. Driving to a wedding that I was very happy about but still sad and maybe even a little bitter at my own situation, I had the radio low. Through the traffic noise, the chatter of others in the car, and my own thoughts come one lyric from a song on the radio.

“I am in love with your potential”

Time stops and I am suddenly aware of only the song on the radio. I zero in on the screen that displays the title of the song and the artist. Danielle Bradbery, “I am in Love with your Potential”. I researched later and do not know if she wrote it. I want to give credit where it is due, but she was the recording artist.

“But honestly now, I’m beginning to understand
That I’m not in love with you, I’m in love with your potential”.

It is interesting to me that songs always seem to bring understanding whether I am looking for it or not. This lyric hit home in many ways. The loss of my friend, lover and Dom was devastating on all those levels each of which had multiple layers and meanings. Many times after a break up of any kind, we tend to rationalize everything in one way or the other. Sometimes, we take the blame. Sometimes we place the blame elsewhere. This could possibly be a coping strategy, or we are just trying to make sense of something that happened.

The reason my friend, lover, Dom dropped me, (Literally in a text with no opportunity to discuss) was, in fact, my fault. I made a mistake. I owned it but that wasn’t enough for him. The time I spent trying to figure out how he could just walk away was useless. I would never know the real reason. We all talk about “closure”. I knew I wanted some kind of closure, but in reality, I knew I wanted him back. The closure was in fact, he didn’t want to have anything to do with me.

We all cope in our own ways. I went through the usual grief cycle. My own version of it anyway. I went through all the things I didn’t like about our situation and relationship. I went through all the ways I would be better off without him. I went through all the ways that I could now move on with my life. I tried to avoid the things that I missed. His memory was/is everywhere in my home, my work, my life. I powered through to some form of recovery. For two months I struggled daily to forget the bad and remember the good. There was always this question in my mind of what I could have done better, differently. What were the things I did wrong? How could I have been a better friend, lover, sub?

With one lyric on the radio in the middle of chatter and noise and my own thoughts about how my life could be different, there was a light bulb moment. I was and still am in love with his potential. I saw it every day for seven years. I told him about it. I shared my thoughts and at times I tried to help him reach what he wanted to be. Potential. That is what I was in love with. As always, varying levels of what that might be. Yes, I was in love with the man he was and is. I was also capable of seeing so much more for him. Knowing the differences, or maybe just the beginning thoughts that there is a difference has given me much more to think about.

Perhaps I had my own version in my mind of what “we” should look like. As friends, lovers, and our D/s relationship. Perhaps we didn’t have the same vision of what that should or could be, even though we did talk about it. There wasn’t much talk about the details, just the big picture. We just couldn’t get there while he was trying to work out other issues in his life.

Going forward I challenge myself to think about the difference of being attracted to the person, or who we want that person to be. How much time will we give to figuring it out? What will the conversations look like? When does it make sense to talk about the conversations? Is there a danger in expecting someone to meet their potential? Is it actually their potential or what you believe their potential is or should look like? Do they want to reach a higher potential? Are you trying to hard to make them better and change them? Are we so concerned about their potential we are ignoring our own?

With this breakup, I have felt that my BDSM experiences were over. I am still trying to figure that out. I do not want it to be. I feel it is a huge part of me. Time will tell. Trust, finding someone new, letting go of what I had with him, and giving that part of myself to someone else is scary. How much of what I enjoyed was just because it was him. Time will tell.

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Community, Cliques and Making Friends

via Community, Cliques and Making Friends.  

This is an amazing read.  Much if how I felt when I started blogging was that I wasn’t worthy of association with these authors that push the limits and write about consensual, kinky,  sex in ways I thought I could only imagine.

In the beginning, I was clueless, I just knew I wanted to write.   I also wanted to blog and tweet and do all of those things.  Newbies have wonderful mentors and role models.  We should reach out and learn and share and laugh and giggle and even share a year or two.  I was, at first, (and still am a little bit) afraid of looking like a stalker.  So many beautiful stories and ideas.  And twitter feels like I moved into a new neighborhood and everyone brought me cake and coffee!  I find myself wishing we all lived closer so we could drink coffee together!  I too was in need of friends.  These people, men, and women helped me through a very unexpected breakup with words of support and love.  And the barely knew me.
Being new to anything is hard.  I agree it must go both ways.  I remember giggly g when one was supporting another and trying to get people to like her page so she could get 700 or 7000 likes on her blog! (I can’t remember the actual number bit she was 7 likes away). I giggled because on that day my blog reached 50 likes!  I celebrated quietly with a coffee and thought it would be silly to show my pride in it.  But I was wrong.

Thank you for this post.   Much needed. I hope we all listen.  I can honestly say I have never felt more supported by a community I had just entered. So thank you to everyone!

 

 

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What Matters Most

September, 2018

This month has been one of the hardest ever.  In my journey to the new me and also the real me, I have had a mentor, friend, and guide.  He was also my Dom, my Sir, my Daddy.  Started with Sir, and then as I grew and progressed I understood and accepted the title Daddy as I had lost my original objections to this term.   He became that to me and more.  He was also my best friend and as we progressed in our friendship, we progressed in other ways as well.  It was a glorious journey.  It had ups and downs as most do.  We never fought and even our disagreements were handled with calm and respectful conversation.  He offered me the opportunity to open myself up to who I really wanted to be.  True, I wanted to be that with him, but the truth remained that I had many things that were repressed.   He not only gave me the tools to explore those things, but he was there with me all the way.  I trusted him with so much of myself.  More than I had with anyone.  More than I doubt I will ever trust with anyone else.

Our everything ended in a text.  I said the wrong thing to the wrong person and he cut me off completely.  He was no longer my mentor, my Dom, my part time lover, and most sadly of all, no longer my friend.  I felt sad and responsible.  I was devastated.  It is almost two months to the day (August 6, 6:34 pm) and I still feel the sadness and deep heaviness that lays on me like a concrete blanket.  Some days are better than others, but not a day passes where he doesn’t run through my mind.  His face, his voice, his smell, his laugh, his presence.  It is always with me.  I use to carelessly tell him that know one would ever love him the way I did.  His girlfriends love him, but they don’t know all of him the way I do.  They don’t know his darkest side.  The lies he told, the truths he hid.  I didn’t know all of them either but I knew most of them.  I am not arrogant enough to believe he trusted me with everything but he trusted me with a lot.   I am now left with that knowledge.  I am left with the memories of what he shared and the trust we had together, but his touch, his voice, his presence is gone.

We still need to communicate occasionally because we work at the same place and with the same people.  It is short, professional, polite.  I haven’t heard his voice in two months.  His words that ended everything are on a text stream on my phone.  I can’t bare to delete them.

Life goes on.  This wasn’t life ending.  It was, however, the end of a chapter.  Trying to move on without him is difficult.  All the little things I couldn’t wait to tell him still happen, but I can’t tell him.  All the things I want to share, the news we use to watch together and discuss, the songs that I knew he could cover still continue.  Life doesn’t stop.  He is everywhere in my house.  The pictures he helped hang, his clothes in my closet, the soap and bath wash and cologne he likes are still in their place.  Maybe some day I will take them down.  Maybe some day they will be replaced with another mans clothes, another mans smell and another mans voice.  Right now I am not sure about that.

Dating sucks.  Dating apps suck worse.  I try to seem interested but it seems forced and unfair to anyone interested in spending time to get to know me.  It isn’t just the dating and the companionship.  It is the kink and BDSM.  The future is unknown.  Everyone’s future is unknown.  The hard part is knowing that my BDSM future is unknown.  Admittedly, he was easy.  He was seasoned.  He was knowledgeable.  He was a natural teacher.  More than that he was a trusted friend, and that was the most important part.  I trusted him with my heart, my body, and my soul.  Losing that trust the way I did will make it even harder to trust again.

I miss him.  I will always miss him.

Aside from trying to recover from this loss, I am still dealing with the loss of my second father, supporting my Mom and welcoming my daughter and her girlfriend into my home and adjusting to living with them.   (Which I wouldn’t change for the world and I know they are adjusting too).

This past weekend I took a short trip to the beach with a friend.  I had not been to the beach in four years for relaxation.  I have always considered the beach my happy place.  My therapy.  It became instantly clear that this was more true than I knew.   I stepped on the sand and the tears flowed with the tide in front of me.  Years of struggle with my daughters addiction, and all that life through at me while going through that with her poured from my eyes like the dam had busted.  The tears I had held back for years, and for the past two months were uncontrollable.  It was a release of sorts, but not the kind that I expected.

The weekend was spent watching my friend handle her parents’ health issues and trying to make sure they were ok.  That, and my break down that was needed, has left me feeling more exhausted than before I left.   Through exhaustion I find some relief.  I’m sad.  I will always be sad at the loss of my father and the loss of my Sir and friend.  I have also realized that through the four years of hell with my daughters addiction, the loss of my farm and marriage, I am still standing.

Somethings show us darkness.  Somethings show us light.  Somethings make us stronger.  In the end it is our perspective that either saves us or lets us drown.   The ocean will always show me that most things will come and go.  They will give and take.  In the end, it is what we decide to keep and cherish, let go of and file in a place where we can keep the lesson but lose the pain is what matters most.

Renewed

Last week was important.  All days are important and should be lived to the fullest but last week was my fifth attempt at a very important test in my full-time career.  I scheduled it for Thursday morning and that afternoon I was leaving for a semi relaxing weekend to the beach with a friend to visit her parents who have health issues.

The test is the bane of my existence.  It is a national certification test that somewhat impacts my career.  It is a questionable test in my profession, doubted by many based on its structure but also relied upon by many to judge skill and monetary worth.  For reasons to complicated to go into this test has split the profession.  It is hard to study for and difficult when you can not pass it.  I have been struggling with it for four years.  I left the test on Thursday sure I have failed it again.  The results take about 90 days to come back so there is still hope, but I feel like I did not pass it.

I felt angry and disappointed when I left but hurried home to meet my friend and get to the airport.  Deep breaths and leaving it up to the people that score  the test, I had done everything I could do.

The weekend was much needed.  A day on the beach was cheap therapy that I had not had in about four years.  But the other part of the weekend was tough.  Watching my friend deal with her parents and their health and their dynamics was tough.  Much different than my situation, she handled these complicated twists and turns with grace.  Managing health issues, time constraints, disability issues, and seeing your parents in a frail state could not have been easy.  All of this while having a good time with me and them.

Relecting on the weekend (or obsessing as I do) I found perspective.  The test will always be an issue for me.  I love my job and I am good at it.  While I am not at the top in my field, I am a good interpreter and work hard to make sure I continue to be.  The test is important, however, so is health and family.  There will always be things that stop us.  Some times we will feel crippled by what we face.  We must move forward and be the best we can be.  We must be forgiving of ourselves and others, and thankful for the blessings we have.

I hope the feelings of this weekend stay with me for a long time.  I hope I am often reminded of what is important and I hope I am forever able to prioritize the things in my life that need my attention.