Dream log, and poly weirdness.

Dream involved a comedy of errors in an attempt to sleep with Shawn.

If I were being perfectly frank with myself, I'd be either somewhat scared, garnetdagger considers a "danger" (her wording) of me falling for him again.

When Dagger says "danger", she means it. If Darkside and I are somewhat of a social mismatch ... well, if a random reader thinks we aren't, there's nothing I can say that would be able to convince them that we're not, but ... I have problems with self esteem and social situations. It's difficult for me to trust that someone actually cares about me sometimes. But when I'm in my right mind, I have no doubts that Darkside does care. For someone who doesn't express emotion well, he's done a good job at somehow reassuring me that I'm cared about. (the swap between my right mind and my wrong mind is vast, and anyone catching me in my wrong mind should send me to bed.)

But. Shawn is distinct danger to me, because (BDSM terminology) he's not a good Master. He does not provide the care that a submissive needs, doesn't do the "I am master, I'm in charge, which means I'm responsible" wellness checks. There is history. There is bad history. Dagger has forbidden that I take up with Shawn again, which means that as much as Shawn and I would get on like a house afire in bed now (memory says that our kinks are eminently compatible now that I've grown more into mine) ... no. Absolutely not.

Thank you, Darkside, for being a wonderful man and respectful of me...


My teenage fumblings of sex with Shawn were just as much of a comedy of errors as the dream was, which I find refreshing and amusing. Oy. Oy vey. My sex dreams tend to be extremely realistic, and feature the correct personality of my partner(s) as I know it. And. Yeah. Not happening. What garnetdagger says, goes.

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The clip part of my phone's cover came off. Yay for pockets. Woke up before alarm clock. Must call Darkside later.

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I never want to become jaded to the thrill of travel. The oil and metal and heat smell of the passing bus was invigoratin

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Half dreamed about teaching the LF about the words that are not quite right and how they were supposed to be different.

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Finding the right word is like using the controller to move your guy but you can't get it to go where you want.

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The word of the day is 'scurvy' according to what the boys are talking about.

The Work Files

Work, hooray. It's the kind of day when I wonder what I'm doing here (now), but before it was kind of good. I am monitoring right now, hooray monitoring. (Sometimes monitoring bores me silly.)

Earlier, Grandma Cinderella went out and got us all muffins and orange juice. We were most appreciative. Rev. Not-So-Nice Super and Homie G. Super were confused when I mentioned scurvy, and giggled that a kid at my cousin's college got scurvy from eating exclusively ramen. This led to a discussion on scurvy, and Googling for photos of people with scurvy, and a brief pirate craze.

Rev. Not-So-Nice Super was singing very bizarre songs with bizarre rhymes. I wrote down some of them, but they're out on my other desk.

Whee, the work.

"Jackrabbit" rhymes with "crack habit". Thus speaks Rev. Not-So-Nice Super.

The new guy, I dub "Curious George", because he has a billion questions about everything. Which is understandable in a new hire, but ... there's something about him.

We'll see. Most people get chilled out after a couple weeks here. And he doesn't keep asking about the same thing, unlike some former employees I could mention *cough*onemanbaldnuditycrusade*cough*

I drew sketches of Stressy College Chick, Rev. Not-So-Nice Super, and Homie G. Super. Homie G. really liked his, and had me sign it.