The Price and why I get away with it

Yesterday I wrote that I had no remorse over being punished, and my husband asked me to explain why. Later, when we were talking about my blog post, he commented that the explanation I wrote might make others think he was insecure about my level of obedience, then explained what it actually was that he wanted me to elaborate on. So, my apologies if I gave anyone the wrong impression.

And without further ado . . .

I’m the sort of person who thinks, a lot. I also have some pretty strong opinions about most things, and none of them are based on, “Because so-and-so said so.” If a punishment is threatened for a given action, instead of being automatically deterred, I will instead factor the punishment into the price of the action. If I decide that I will come out with a net win, I’ll do the action anyway. E.g., if I eat this entire chocolate cake by myself without sharing, I won’t be allowed any desserts ever again. However, since this chocolate cake was made by God Himself and it tastes like ambrosia, never eating another sweet thing again is a price that I’m willing to pay.

The idiot solution towards someone such as myself is to simply amp up the punishments so that I won’t consider them worth it. If I buy this 50 cent candy bar, I’ll get ten lashings with a cane. Hm . . . The big glaring problem with such a course of action is that in making the size of the punishment not fit the size of the crime, we would cross the line into abuse, especially considering that the price I’m willing to pay for things can be quite unpredictable — I just might go for the candy bar anyway. I would also start lying about my actions and fighting back, because I have a pretty solid idea of what constitutes justice, and I’m not about to let myself suffer any unfairness if I can do something about it. I’ve never been good at meekly turning the other cheek.

My husband respects that I’m capable of making my own judgment calls, and lets me make my own choices. Being the leader does not mean that he has to control every nitpicky action I take, and he doesn’t feel threatened when I don’t show any remorse for misbehavior — he understands that I weighed the matter out in my mind then did it because I needed to. He knows that I’m not trying to undermine him. He also knows that I’m a very thoughtful person, and that I do my best to uplift him and our children; if God ever did give us a chocolate cake, I’d be the one ensuring that everyone gets a slice. By letting me make choices and accept the consequences in small matters, he is showing how much he trusts me to do the right thing when it really matters.



Last night I turned off the lights, started heading towards bed, and unexpectedly ran smack into the wall, after which I crumpled to the floor and had a good sob. The morning light has revealed that I hit hard enough to bruise my nose.

The real kicker is that we have an event planned for tonight, the sort where you scrub up the children and put them in their Sunday best, then glam yourself up till you glow. Now I’ll be attending with a bruised nose. Well, a little vanity isn’t enough to keep me away!

I’m wondering if I should expect the whole day to go wrong.


My husband and I missed another night of lovemaking, and I spent the entire next day wallowing in despair. Every now and then I thought about muscling my way through it and accomplishing something with myself, but the depression was just too much for me. All I could think about was that overwhelming feeling of neglect that was consuming my soul.

So I misbehaved and am now grounded from Netflix for the rest of the week. I feel no remorse.*

After remedying the situation, my husband jokingly called me a nympho. I asked him if he would much rather have a wife who needed lots of sex and got emotional without it, or a wife who was calm all the time but rarely wanted sex. He answered the former, so there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me. (What do you call someone who is calm all the time and wants lots of sex? A man!)

There’s the notion that feelings of infatuation and intense desire fade over time as hormones subside within relationships, and my husband and I, being the sort of people that we are, decided, “To Hell with that!” We made it our goal to keep the fires burning as brightly as possible, each day better than the last, for the rest of our lives and beyond.

The longer we keep it burning, the more dependent we become on its warmth and energy.

Our marriage is well worth it, but I wouldn’t say that it is easy. There’s no room for selfishness, no such thing as acting without considering how it will affect the other person. We also need plenty of structure and boundaries to keep from getting burnt or consumed, and our fights can get to be quite passionate. But our love continues to grow, as does the amount of energy that we get out of our relationship. I like to think that eventually our love will sustain us into immortality, ha ha.

With me having giant emotional crashes without sex, I can’t imagine the flame ever going out. My hormones just won’t allow it.

*My husband asked me to elaborate on this. In this particular case, acting out for attention was more important to me than the consequence of having the toddler throw numerous tantrums over not being able to watch Pingu. I wanted to ensure that he would follow through with our established rules.

Of Friends and Spirits

After Natalia moved away, but before I met my husband, I spent nearly a year completely alone. I was on friendly terms with my coworkers, but more often than not I was assigned solitary tasks and didn’t do much socializing at work. Home was a studio apartment where I lived alone with my two cats. Yet during this time I wasn’t lonely.

I talked a lot with my angels. They were with me everywhere I went; the bookstore, the mall, the movies, everywhere. They were constant companions who were always quick with a quip, and always available for conversation.

When the Trials started, my spiritual connection went Silent. It was traumatizing and lonely. The stark contrast made me realize how much I had depended on those voices.

Recently with my efforts to socialize, I’ve realized that the way people see me hasn’t changed — I am unapproachable. It’s not that people dislike me; in fact, my husband and I are fairly popular in our neighborhood, and more often than not, our evening walks include a number of brief conversations with the neighbors we pass by. But when it comes to being a friend, I guess that I am too intimidating for others to want to get close.

Making friends has never been easy for me.

I’ve begun wondering if, in the larger context of my religious beliefs, I’m not actually meant to have many friends. I have always been like a princess in a tower, and very few people have dared to climb those walls. As an intensely spiritual person, I have always been most comfortable in the company of spirits and other intensely spiritual people. Perhaps, instead of trying to make friends, I’d be better off forming deeper relationships with the angels and fairies around me. Friends will be the people who were brave enough to climb my tower, and they will come when they come.

It’s also not fair of me to expect the people in my life to have the constant availability that spirits have, and I suspect that perhaps a large part of my past behavior was based on trying to get them to fill in the hole that was left when everything went Silent.


A contemplation of the application of force

Originally posted on Meta Maxima:

A rope may hold her fast, but what holds the rope? Are not the hands which guide the knots better applied to the flesh which yields at his slightest touch? He ponders the implications of entrapment; the security of bondage versus the expression of control, that she knows her strongest resistance is but straws before him.

She flies before his approach, yet he overtakes her; swiftly she is borne to earth; who has need of rope when one has strength and speed? The struggling is not unwelcome; it would be a poor conquest without submission, and submission is earned, not given.

Afterwards, exhausted and trembling, she knows her placeā€“it has been shown to her in a way that no rope ever could. His hands are the gentle chains that bind her irrevocably to a place that can never be lost.

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I’ve always liked bangs, and sported them till the 9th grade when a hairstylist told me to get rid of them, because they were too childish and yucky and she had a personal vendetta against them. Ever since then, I’ve always been afraid to try bangs again, because every time I thought about them I worried that I would look childish and yucky.

A week ago, I decided that I wanted to change my hairstyle in a big way, and my husband told me to go for the bangs because I like them so much. I went with the blunt cut, right at my eyebrow line.

The first thing that I noticed is that my eyes, which are already my most noteworthy feature, were shining much more intensely than before. The second thing was that it felt really good to look so drastically different; like I had shed the last shackle of my past and was shouting to the skies, “Hello world! I’m a new person!”

The really funny thing is, people think that I’m a natural redhead despite the fact that I have three inches of growth since the last time I dyed it. I guess that means I wear it really well. Also, it’s way past due for me to re-henna my hair.

I feel like my transformation, which started inside and has slowly been working it’s way out, is now complete. I was reborn.