Just a moment.

Good evening to you all.

This is just to say that I am taking a very short break from writing. the sads have got me quite badly, and it is quite hard for me to just get out of bed at the moment, let alone write.

I won't be away for very long.

Big hugs with inappropriate pervy gropes to everyone.

Back soon.

Pet Names

Pet names: Are they important to you? Do you invariably use them in your relationships? Do you hate them? Do they make you warm and fuzzy on the inside, or sick up your last meal?

The other day, I was chatting to Alistair on messenger. I told him that I loved him, and he responded by saying "I love you too, Poodle". He then went on to say "I've decided you're a bit of a great dane/poodle cross (with your pigtails in...)" We have already discussed the great-dane puppy thing. Because of my long limbs, and lack of coordination, I am apparently reminiscent of a puppy of this type.

However, upon the inspection of the above photograph, I think he may be onto something with the whole poodle thing. Long legs, teeny little ankles, huge ears/pig-tails, "alternative" dress sense. It's pretty much me.

So I want to know your opinions on pet names. I want to know what pet names you have for people, and what people have named you?

I must confess, I am a big fan, and was secretly all joybells when Alistair said that I was a poodle. In a way, I think pet names are a cementing force in a relationship. They are something that the two of you share, and you have to be comfortable with each other to use them. There have been moments when I have wondered whether the fact that Alistair didn't have a name for me was a bad sign... When we first started seeing each other, he used to call me "Kitten". A lot of people think I am rather cat-like when they meet me. Then they get to know me. "Kitten" died out rather quickly. It was replaced by "Puppy", this is how people see when they know me better... enthusiatic, eager to please, sometimes makes a fool of self... But "Puppy" more or less died out too. Though I am sure it will rear its head a few times more during certain kinky moments.

I have a semi pet name for Alistair that I sometimes use, which is "Posh Boy". It's not really a pet name, I suppose, but it amuses me. It's a name that needs no explanation. I also have two other names which I only store in my head. One to amuse me in more tense moments, and the other is a sweet one, but I fear that he would swot at me if I ever used it. He swots at my head in the morning everytime I tell him he is adorable as he peeps his sleepy little head over the covers. I shan't tell you the names.

However, my last partner, Axel and I (yes *the* relationship), were rife with little names. Mainly directed at me. I used to call him Pumpikin. My main name was Noodle. Also Super Noodle (it was one of those bizarre relationship idiosyncracies, we used to prefix everything with "super"). I was called Betty Boodle, which was a combination of Bettie Page, (who I reminded him of), Bettie Boop (who I reminded him of), and Noodle (who I was). Then we had Buttress (because of my much-celebrated rear), which became Buttress of Windsor on special occasions. I was sometimes Noodle Widebottom (1980 Noodle Widebottom, in full). Don't look so horrified. I love my backside, and he did too. But anyway, somehow we decided that he had bought me at a shop... not really sure if I was some bizarre automaton, or vehicle, but I was a 1980 model (reflecting the year of my birth). The 1980 Noodle Widebottom had an inbuilt "Klutzomatic Feature", which certainly explains my lack of coordination. It is also indicative of one of the character traits that all my menfolk seem to pick up on.

Well, I am not sure how one reacts to all that. I should say that Axel was far more "normal" than I, but I guess he used to get sucked up in the surreal Maisie Experience, and liked it. One thing that you could certainly say of us, we never forgot how to just be kids together, and we were never afraid of making fools of ourselves to make the other one laugh.

Before Axel, I was with Spike. We had one name each, and stuck to it. In fact, we still use them, even after all these years. He was Moo Moo, and I was Schmoo.

So, now I have opened a window onto a very private affair, it's your turn to spill. What are your names?

Head Pills

How appropriate. Lustral sounds like a term used to describe a highly sexed lady. Until this evening, I had no idea that the brand name for sertraline was Lustral.

Fairly recently it dawned on me that I have been living with depression and anxiety my whole life. As a very young child, I used to be filled with blind panic over the most minor things, but I never told anybody because I was embarrassed. I used to suffer in silence. It was also a usual part of my existence to feel alone and outside of everyone else, and let's face it, I was always a bit different.

As my teens progressed, it got worse, along with my homelife (which has been previously mentioned). I used to refer to it as "my alien", because it often felt like I had something very tangible gripping onto my head and brain, like one of the crab-like creatures from the movie Alien. And everything was grey. I felt like a layer of film had been spread over my senses, preventing colours from appearing quite so bright, stopping me from appreciating the sunlight on my skin. And I was either filled with unbearable sadness, or I was numb. I would spend hour after hour after hour after hour laying on my bed in the darkness of my room.

But you deal with things. Eventually.

And there have been some big ups along the way, and some fucking deep, deep downers.

It was in April that I was prescribed sertraline. This was a very big deal, because I have always been very anti head pills, having watched Prozac fuck my mother up, a previous partner up, and turn me into a zombie during the brief time I took them when I was younger. But I had to get stuff done. I needed to find a place to live, I needed to finish my teacher-training, I needed to find the strength to walk away from my relationship with Alistair (which, of course I didn't). My doctor was wonderful, and surprisingly for the NHS, sympathetic and careful about what she gave me. And actually, it has really helped.

Sertaline reduces my anxiety to a manageable level, it tames the depression, and even reduces my OCD. Unfortunately, it makes it incredibly hard for me to reach orgasm. But I can live with that.

And my ability to deal with things improved a lot after I started taking these magic little head pills. This was helped on by the fact that I had managed to build up a degree of emotional distance from Alistair, thus removing some of the headfuckedness from my life. Perhaps foolishly, I have let myself fall in a bit deeper with Alistair. This has brought back some of the distress.

And last night I forgot to take a head pill. I did that last week, and clearly did not learn my lesson. If I do not take a pill, I am plunged into a pit of despair and anxiety. I have spent most of the day in bed, sleeping where I can, and just staring at the ceiling at other moments. And the thoughts go round and around and around in my head.

I just want to be held, but I am very conscious of inflicting myself on people. In any case, Courtney is in the next room having one of his lows. Alistair is out with the ex and her cousin. And even if he wasn't, I am uncomfortable being sad around him because he hates being around depressed people. He says he is not good with them, and ends up feeling depressed himself, and I don't want to be a burden.

Added to this is the fact that I am concerned he feels that we are spending too much time together. The other night, he told me that he was worried that we had bypassed the whole "dating thing" again. And he he said he wants some nights to himself next week, having intended on having them this week, but being unable to because stuff has got in the way. Tuesday night was one of the first nights where he slept in his bed by himself, without me, or the ex, or one of his harem. And he slept really well. I felt bad this morning, having spent the night with him, knowing that I affected his sleep. When I am ok, I don't have bad dreams, and sleep like a log, but when I am depressed, I am prone to nasty dreams, and I toss and turn. In the early hours of the morning, I woke Alistair up, he said I had screamed. And I remember doing that in my dream, but I guess I did it in reality too. He said my cries had become progressively louder. I remember the dream, but I can't describe it here because it was so weird and twisted, it wouldn't make any sense, but it was frightening.

So right now, my head is on a stupid irrational spiral. And I keep thinking about what is going to happen. Is this a sign that we are not compatible? Am I an idiot to be asking such a question? We have been seeing each other for a year... He is in love with the ex, and in love with me... Is this a sign that we wouldn't be able to live together?... We did for a couple of months at the beginning of the year, and we were happy... Should I even be having these thoughts?

I am so unsure of everything.

If there is a prince charming out there, I sure could use you right now.

Live From the Dungeon (Almost).

Hello Perverts.

Today, I am assisting Mistress Max with a client who has been in session with her since yesterday, and will remain so until tomorrow.

He is into heavy bondage, and has been spending most of his time gagged, hooded, and blindfolded. Nevertheless, I thought I would wear something a little nicer than my usual mid-week bag-lady attire. I went for a classic, slightly vintage look today. I love to fashion my hair in a 1940s style, and so have used this as an opportunity to do so. I have my little pink blouse on, and grey pencil skirt with a waist cincher, and my very lovely pink peep-toe heels. No, not all mistresses are permanently clad in thigh-highs and latex. See how I crush your dreams?

I am mainly here to watch over him when he is left tied up and "alone" to make sure he doesn't get into any difficulty etc. However, I have been taking part here and there. This morning, before Max arrived at the dungeon, she had dressed the client as a woman and sent him off to Harrods to buy a pen. She is in no desperate need of a pen, but it was to serve as proof that he had indeed ventured to Harrods whilst dressed as a woman. Meanwhile, she made her way here.

Obviously "here" is not my home, but Alistair's. For those of you that don't know, he has a dungeon in the basement, and rents the space to pro-dommes. It was early, and he was tying up some loose ends before going to work. I was tying up my hair, and was rather hoping he would be unable to resist me in all my retro glory. Not even so much as a "You look pretty." Still, Max thought I looked lovely.

Now, Mistress Max is a woman who can be one of the most hyperactive people I have ever met. And when a client books a 48 hour session, that is exactly what they get. This man had been repeatedly tied up in various extreme bondage positions all night long. Max makes sure she wakes up every two hours to do this, so when she arrived here, she had had very little sleep and was still bouncing around. She filled me in on his likes and dislikes, and possible things we would do to him. she also asked me to answer the door to him to worry him a little. (He did not know I would be involved.)

He phoned to say he was outside. I opened the door, said hello, and told him to come in. Later, Max said that I have to alter my tone, she said it was too "friendly". Personally, I thought it was a very level tone. I don't really favour the stern, severe thing. Oh, don't get me wrong, I do favour nasty, mean, cruel, etc, however, as I have said before, these things are best served with a more gentle manner. It makes them seem more wrong, and somehow nastier. At least I think so. Still, they are paying for a service.

Anyway, I opened the door, and a small, skinny little man came in, with a little blond wig on his head. A Harrods carrier bag hung in his hand. I told him to kneel down, and I put a blindfold on his head, and buckled a gag onto him. Then (heehee) I wrapped tape around the whole thing. I helped him up and led him down the stairs to the dungeon, where Max was waiting for us. He was told to undress, and it would seem that he had removed the butt plug that he was meant to be wearing on his shopping excursion. Apparently, it hurt. What a wimp.

Max lowered the swing-bed from the ceiling. She tied his wrists with satin (he has a real thing for satin), and draped some scarves on him for good measure, then we zipped him up into a leather body-bag, which was placed on the swing. I went and grabbed a book, and Max popped out to the shops. She had to buy some food-stuffs, because the client wanted to be pelted with food. Not that uncommon, but this man wanted to have a "garbage can" emptied onto him. Well, whatever floats your boat. We weren't going to empty the bin onto him (though he is so petite, I think we could probably have thrown him in the bin...) What we were intending on doing was covering him in smelly, paticularly unpleasant food. Max came back with asorted tinned fish (and the standard baked-beans type things.) Being involved in this sort of thing does make you contemplate humanity often.

Whilst she was away, it was my job to make sure he stayed alive and breathing, and to torment him a little. Essentially, I took a seat, and nudged the swing here and there. When I got a bored, I dug out the Hitachi Magic Wand and buzzed him through the leather. If he had not been secured, he would have jumped a few feet into the air.

**written next morning**

When Max arrived back, I went upstairs and she gave her client some more playtime. Unfortunately, it would seem that he was coming down with a virus, sniffling, and beginning to look rather unwell. Since he had not had any sleep, and had not yet been allowed to eat, she put him to bed on the matress in the cage in the medical room. Fear not, he had blankets and was warm and snuggly. Sadly, sleep did not help him very much. We went to check on him, and he requested some more nap-time, in the hope that he would improve. Typically, I was very concerned for him, and suggested that he might need a t-shirt to keep his chest warm, then I gave him some ibuprofen. Don't think I am not capable of performing some quite grotesque acts on boys, but what can I say, I am inescapably fuzzy.

In the end, he called things to a halt. This saddened me, because were going to dress him up in something silky, and I was going to be let loose with the makeup. (Here I must state that I do not do enjoy enforced feminisation. The pleasure would be merely that of dress-up and makeup. It is irrelevant right now, but in a nutshell, it irks me that appearing "feminine" should be something humiliating, or submissive.) No frills and spills fun for me. Though there was some amusement. You see, after Max had packed him from the hotel room to get a pen from Harrods, and then to make his way here, she cleared his room of all his possessions, leaving only one set of clothes, and his wallet. She took his luggage to another dungeon space in London that she works from, and left a note on the bed saying "Hah! You thought it was over, but if you want your stuff back, you have until 2pm to find me a suitable gift." He was meant to have stayed the night at Alistair's, have been abused all night long, then to have been thrown out in the morning with the impression that it was all over...

On another note, I cooked dinner for Max, Alistair, and Courtney last night. Courtney arrived to find me still in my forties finery, not a hair out of place, vigorously whisking gravy. It was a kodak moment. Max and Courtney believe I might find a suitable niche if I approach the whole domination thing from a domestic angle... You know, smacking boys round the head with a wooden spoon, my hands still coated in flour from kneading all that dough, and all the while having to contend with such naughtiness. Don't make me get the rolling-pin.

Just pick yourself up and dust yourself off.

And I have.

Thanks to everyone who left me such supportive messages. Don't you worry about me, I am fine. Promise.

I just let myself get a little too deep again. I am reminded that these are waters that it is wise to only dip ones toe into.

I used to be so good at the whole relationship thing. I suppose I still am, because as far as I can tell, I have been doing everything right. But you can't make someone adore you, and there 'aint no dignity in trying. You just have to accept that there are limits to where some things can go. I am pretty sure that this is one of those times.

I know that some of you are silently chanting "Ditch him! Ditch him! Ditch him!" But I don't think I am going to do that. Who among you could bring yourself to ditch reh-heeeeally good sex? Well you're stronger than I am.

No, I do believe I am going to follow the same advice given to me by several friends over the course of this whole fiasco: "Just enjoy it for what it is, coz that's all that it is."

Ok, ok, it's not just about the sex, but Alistair is not truly, madly, deeply in sweet mother-fucking love with me either.

Anyway, I am going away to Brighton on Thursday evening to visit my sister. Then, on Friday we are going camping. I am thinking that there will be not a man in sight... My sister is a turbo-lesbian, which is like a common-garden lesbian, but more potent. She tends to hang with other lesbians. The plan is to go pitch the tent (hehehe lesbians pitching the tent), and then go to this farm-like place where they make cider. We shall imbibe cider at a tasting event, and then purchase more cider, for the tent. I tend to prefer gin, or chemicals of a different kind. Still, when in Rome.

I am really looking forward to this. I hardly ever get to hang with her.

Sometimes I get love letters.

An ex of mine spies, no not spies, "keeps up to date" with me. He discovered my blog quite a while ago, and checks in every now and then to make sure I am still alive, and as sane as I ever was.

And it seems he toddled in very recently, because he emailed me something. I hope he doesn't feel too violated that I publish it here, because it is one of the nicest things anybody has ever written to me. He is an awesomely great guy, and I cannot thank him enough for the way he watches over me:

"Yeah, I do keep up with life in Maisieland via the magic of the interwebs. And, you know, I'm not sure I should write this - but I do adore you. No longer in the "I want to spend my life with this person" mode, but seriously - the mere fact you exist makes me smile. I know you don't feel comfortable with compliments - but you are smart, funny, pretty, and someone who I feel is worthy of love. Whatever love you accept from others, you return with highly polished knobs on, and you have a way of making people feel good about themselves.And you do, indeed, deserve to be with someone who counts waking up beside you as a reason to believe that all is right with the world.

Harri

x "

All I can say is thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster for men like you, my darling.

Arabic Poetry

My soul clung to yours before we were created,
Before we were weaned, before we were laid in the cradle.
Our love has grown and developed our selves;
Death cannot break the promises of this love.
It will survive all the trials of fate
And visit us among the shadows of the tomb, In the depths of the grave.

The above is something that Saladin posted up online, it is an example of Arabic poetry by Jamil al Udhri.

I am pretty sure he writes... I wonder if he'll ever write anything for me.

I am more wonderful than I feel.

Warning: Badly written. Lack of time, no lack of I don't cares.

It seems I was wrong. The ex has moved out.

Alistair is very upset and depressed.

We had a conversation on messenger the other day, and it was not a happy one. You see, over the past couple of weeks or so, I have slowly allowed myself to get a little closer again, emotionally speaking. This was a big mistake on my part, because once again it ensured that I feel secondary to the great Alistair and Ex Saga. Secondary to his feelings for her. This was what our conversation was about. In hindsight, it was a less than useful time, as his mind is somersaulting over the ex's departure, so in this sense, everything else is secondary.

I mentioned commitment. I asked if he was ever going to commit to me, that I thought he should really have some idea after a year of seeing each other. He said he didn't know, but that he hasn't ruled me out, and seemed to think I'd feel better with him pointing out that another one of his fucks has been ruled out. I am sure I don't have to spell out the fact that I was a tad upset over this. He said it was a bad time because he loves the ex and is messed up over her.

This is indeed true.

I do not feel very secure. So I am in love with Alistair. He says he loves me. He needs to get over his ex, or work things out. Whilst this happens, he continues to see people and "rule them out" for a committed relationship. Provided he does indeed get over the ex, one can only assume that if he doesn't find somebody else, I'll get lucky. Though there will probably be an extensive period of searching before he gives up. Or maybe he will find someone. I wonder how that conversation would go... But it's ok, because I apparently have the freedom to do the same.

The thing is, I seem to have this little thing called respect that I bestow upon people I am in love with (and most other people). This invariably means that whilst we are in the process of seeing where things go, I do not actively have my tendrils out for any other bits of "better" flotsam that might be floating by. This ensures that my beloved feels loved, valued, and wanted, with the added bonus that they are not left wondering what the next bit of flotsam will be like, and whether they are going to be traded in.

If the conversation was simply a matter of Alistair being in love with, and hurt over the ex, and thus unable to commit to me, that would be reasonable. But it wasn't quite like that.

Sometimes I think that there has got to be more than this.

I didn't feel very good about things over the weekend. Alistair was miserable, and it wasn't so much the sadness, as the reason why he was miserable. The fact that he is now going to be entering a period of missing her, of wishing she was still with him, and I daresay there will be moments where he wishes she was there instead of me.

He took me to London Zoo on Saturday. He didn't really want to go, but because I did, he bought tickets. He didn't look as though he was enjoying himself, which made me feel that I had forced him into something tiresome. Animals are a bit of a thing for me, and I get quite excited. Alistair made me feel like a silly kid.

I am tired of feeling like a foolish, clumsy, eccentric child whose only notable attributes are her pleasingly ample arse, and her ability to draw stuff.

And hey, what's the difference between me and his other fucks? I write love letters and bring coffee in the morning.

It would be nice to have someone who makes me feel a little bit adored, apart from my mother. I am hindered by the fact that I am someone who constantly laughs at herself, and doesn't mind being teased. People get used to that, and soon, that's all they do, until finally, even the compliments I receive are backhanded.

Although the weekend had its nice moments, I am not sure that I can say I had a good time overall. Obviously things were not ideal because Alistair was sad due to the ex. So it may have been better if the trauma wasn't going on.

But I can't help but think that I just don't "do it" for him enough. I mean he does love me in his own way, he certainly finds me attractive, but it doesn't seem to be enough. Would it be different if he didn't still have feelings for the ex? I don't know. His behaviour towards me certainly changed as things started to improve between them, and definitely after she moved in. I mean hell, there was a time when he didn't admit he was in love with her.

What I can tell you is that, regardless of how he feels, I am certainly not feeling the magic.

It's like I always say, I want to be with someone who can think of nothing better than waking up next to me every morning.

I have decided to keep an up-to-date list of the choicest Alistairisms regarding moi. New entries to be listed in bold.


1) "You're not classically beautiful, but you are pretty." - said in the early days of wooing.

2) "You look like a gnome. A goth gnome." - said to me recently when I sat on the hallway floor, waiting for a decision to be made about where we were going to that day.

3) "You have as much chance as anyone of having a child with me."

4) "You are like a great dane puppy, all limbs and no coordination." - variations said all the time.

5) (paraphrased due to stressful circumstance, and relating to the notion of a committed relationship with me) "I don't know. I have ruled [current play/fuck partner] out as relationship material, I haven't ruled you out." So everyone, it could be me, or it could be someone else. How exciting.

List of the Best

A new and regularly updated list of the words and phrases typed into search-engines that led to my blog. I suppose the content of my blog already tells you that some are... interesting. Newest entries always to be listed in bold.

1) "blogspot.com" double penetration fantasy.

2) "lowered myself onto his face"

3) alistair cock (do they want a specific alistair, or only the cocks of guys named alistair? Do they want the cock of my alistair? Well, lord, tell me who doesn't?)

4) crap fetish (I don't really have anything to say about this.)

5) girl cock (They have come to the right place. It's in a box beside my bed.)

6) uk porn star maisie (Now, some of you may remember my confession on the blog of a certain Teacup lady, relating to a certain episode of porn-making. Since this is not the only maisie porn search, I would like to know which of you perverts has been trying to find me? You think I went by that name? Hah. You are foiled.)

7) mistress iron my pussy to warm it up (Is my personal favourite.)

8) needle testicle domme photo

9) pegs on my labia (Yes, they were...)

See you next time.

Caring for Your Maisie: Instruction Manual.

One of the problems with a traumatic upbringing is that, even if you were lucky enough to have turned out fairly well-adjusted, it will come back to haunt you.

I sometimes joke that I have a demon on each shoulder. I know at least one of them is asleep. Sometimes, he wakes up.

I feel better today, so I am not going to document my twisted childhood. The bare bones of it are that my father was not a good one. He was never physically violent towards me, but he was incredibly emotionally violent. He did many deliberately twisted things to my sister and I... Things that sound quite incredible. And when I was forced out of my home at 18-19 years of age, he began to be physically violent towards my little sister too. He fucked us up, and he controlled, oppressed, and emotionally crippled my mother for 23 long years.

And my sister and I dealt with it. Not sure I can say got over it, but dealt with it, in our very different ways. My little sister is very stereotypically masculine, from her short hair to her attitude. She seldom cries, and will be hard, abrupt, and cold when she needs to deal with things. And she is not too hot on physical displays of affection, nor with the voicing of feelings, except with her young daughter. I, on the other hand, decided when I was a kid that I would grow up to be all about sharing the love. Because of how things were, I was very awkward about the thought of telling someone I loved them, of holding them in my arms... But the concept seemed so deliciously appealing that I went with it. You see the product before you today.

Anyway, as time goes on, I suppose you just learn to exist with your damage, until it isn't a crippling bother anymore. If they know what to look for, other people can sometimes see evidence of it being there, in your behaviour. But all things considered, my sister and I are quite well-adjusted people. Unconventional, but well-adjusted.

We even see our father occasionally, strangely, my sister more than I. She says that she neither loves, nor hates him, that he just doesn't feel like family. Maybe it's all for my niece's benefit. I exchange very sporadic text-messages, and see him once in a very blue moon, for a birthday dinner or something similar.

And you think everything is fine fine fine.

But once in a while, something will happen, and BAM, you are that vulnerable little girl all over again.

My father sent an email to my sister. A can of worms was opened. She showed me their correspondence. It wasn't a fun-read. It was almost as if I could tangibly feel the old wound opening up. It must seem weird, but the only way I can describe it is that I feel like I am retracting into myself. Like I am becoming a smaller person, and that the colour is being drawn from my cheeks. Not that there is much colour there in the first place... And I feel like a little girl.

Thankfully, much like stubbing a toe, you know the pain will fade relatively quickly. I woke up today, and I am back to normal.

But I did go round to Alistair's last night. I know he is depressed at the moment (no kidding!) But I really needed to be taken care of. He cooked, put on a funny movie, and I am grateful for that. But as I sat on the stool in the kitchen, straining to keep the tears down to one or two on my cheek at any one time, I felt like I was a burden. And of course, he told me that he'd have completely severed contact with my father years ago, and felt better for it. That's very normal. People with reasonably ok upbringings always say these things, and they are correct, but they don't understand what it is like to actually be involved. I said to him that I would try to straighten up because he hates dealing with trauma and crying. And he replied in agreement, that he doesn't, and he is not very good at it.

Ouch.

At times like these, what I actually need is a man's arms around me, holding me tight, loving me, and reminding me why everything is ok. The memories of my childhood won't go away, so I need to be reminded of why things are still good, and I am ok despite it all. And in some ways because of it all. When I am sad about my father, I don't need "What you wanna do is this..." or "I'd have done this ............... a long time ago". I know all of the options, I over-analyse everything. I know each and every beneficial action I could perform, and why (rational or otherwise) I haven't done one of them.

I may suffer from a case of the ditz every now and then, but I tend to spend my time noticing when people are sad and need to be built up. I listen to them and try to make it better. Sometimes I need the same.

But I have slept on it, and these days, when I wake up, the demon has fallen asleep again. So I am going to give myself a verbal hug.

Things are ok in spite of everything because

I grew into a kind, warm, loving woman.

I don't repeat patterns and become involved with men like my father.

I am well loved by a few good friends.

Despite being brought up to be a racist bigot, I was always a natural Guardian-reading, sandal-wearing, muesli eater.

Despite my father being incredibly misogynistic, and being brought up in a household where my mother "Should respect my authoritai." (actually, Eric Cartman said that, but it's appropriate), I am an opinionated feminist.

Despite being pressured to leave school at 14 (I kid you not) because it didn't do my father any harm, I now have a first class degree.

And *because* of my childhood, I know exactly what not to do if I ever have a child.

Because of my childhood, I am rarely angry and seldom raise my voice. I know how destructive anger and aggression can be.

I wouldn't change the past, since it has shaped me, warts and all, I just would never want to repeat it.

RIP, Frank Milford.

[click]

Whilst 81 years might be many people's idea of hell, I am kinda sad that it won't be possible for me.

As you may have gathered, I believe in investing a lot in relationships. And I would love nothing more than to settle down, (in an unconventional kind of way), with a person I adore, who will be my companion until one of us toddles off the mortal coil.

Give me enduring passion and love, marriage, commitment, mutually satisfying sexual deviance, four cats, a great dane puppy, and a chihuaha.

Roun and round and round...

***Alistair: If you read this, you might not like it. It contains opinions.***

03/09/09: When I first published this, I immediately withdrew it, because I was worried it was overly hard-nosed and I wanted to shield Alistair from any upset. But I am not happy tonight.

I am afraid this one is going to be a vent. And for all you newcomers who haven't back-read me, a chance to have a better understanding of the nature of things. I admit, it won't quite be the same as a few months ago, because frankly, I am kinda desensitised. Don't really get that upset anymore.

I spoke to Alistair on Messenger yesterday. He informed me that the ex wanted to have another "chat" when he arrived home from work. They have been doing that a lot. Ben is still on the scene, causing Alistair much upset. The ex still lets Alistair down, causing Alistair much upset. Though one does wonder, in what way does she let him down, since they are not technically together?

In any case, the ex has recently made mention of the fact that she might move out. Yeah, right. Where is she going to find another man who lets her live free of charge in his house and pays for mostly everything? She could always move the tenants out of the house she actually owns and move in there... But doing that would mean taking in lodgers and receiving a cut to the money from said house... Which might mean she has to get a little job while she does her latest course... Noooooooooooooo...

And of course, the thought of her moving out distresses Alistair. He says this is because she will move and their unfinished business will not get finished. Hmmm... well it seems to me that their unfinished business has been lasting a fuck of a long time... I don't know, I think trouble was actually brewing as far back as 2007. Could be wrong though. The truth is that he can't bear to let it go.

But sometimes we have to. And I know this from bitter experience, and I am a very sensitive person, who finds dealing with emotional trauma incredibly hard. But sometimes we have to let things go. I did it with Axel, and he was a close to a soul-mate as my belief is willing to extend.

So, last night, more talking ensued.

You know what's really sad? There was not a single part of me that thought there was a chance that any headway, of any kind, would be made.

You know what's sadder?

That whereas before, I would be crying over this, I actually can't remember the last time I cried. Today, I only write out of frustration. I have accepted the situation, I don't believe it will change, therefore I don't look to the future, and know that my future most likely lies elsewhere. But I still love and care about Alistair, and his situation frustrates me.

I was just drifting off to sleep last night when I got a text from Alistair. It simply said "erg". I asked him if he was ok, and he told me he was confused and unsure. No change there, then, and I told him so. This made him unhappy. I said that I was sorry that things had ended up the way they are, and I am sorry for him... This made him unhappy. He told me he contacted me for a "boost" because he felt down, but that we probably shouldn't discuss it further. He said goodnight, and so did I.

Maybe if I hadn't been so depressed last night, I would have reacted differently. And just like anyone I love, I am there for him, to support him and take care of him. But really, this could go on forever. Alistair and ex talk, Alistair gets upset. Maisie says "There, there." There is absolutely nothing I can do to help on this one. And I am not the only one who has tried. Hell, not even the fact that he loves me is enough. He loves her too.

Alistair has always said that he waits until he has "all the information" before he makes a decision. Well Alistair, and I know you will be reading this, and I know you won't be liking what you read, but here it is:

Sometimes we have all the information, but we choose to ignore it. i.e. She has told you she is not in love with you, she does not have sex with you, she does not play with you, you fight all the time... What other information could you possibly be waiting for? Where can you possibly go from here? I mean yes, things change, but there is even a slim chance that the Flying Spaghetti Monster will plop out of the sky today and smite us for not worshipping it all these years.

And sometimes, we are faced with an incomplete puzzle. Sometimes we can never gain all of the information we need. When this happens, sometimes we still need to act, for our own good.

As a friend, I am telling you that you need to make a decision. One way or another. Decide whether you want to be with her or not, then find out whether this is compatible with what she wants. If it is not, there you have it. And if she simply refuses to come to a conclusion, then you must make a final one.

And I know that you always tell me that things are not that simple. I know that the human heart, the tapestry of human emotions, are not that simple. Often the decisions are. Simple does not mean easy. This is one of those choices which must be made, and made now. Your health is suffering, you are not sleeping properly (and when you do, you talk and moan), you are depressed, you are not as sharp as you should be (and you are usually very damn sharp). You need to muster some courage from somewhere. I think this is what fails you. You are afraid. Afraid of making the wrong choice.

The wrong choice means losing what might have been. But not making a choice is worse. Not making a choice means having nothing at all. Unless Limbo counts. You can't build fulfilling relationships in Limbo. Not with me, not with anyone. You say that you feel your age is against you, and that you have told the ex that you don't have time for this. You don't. Do something.

Alistair's Hall of Fame

I have decided to keep an up-to-date list of the choicest Alistairisms regarding moi. New entries to be listed in bold.

1) "You're not classically beautiful, but you are pretty." - said in the early days of wooing.

2) "You look like a gnome. A goth gnome." - said to me recently when I sat on the hallway floor, waiting for a decision to be made about where we were going to that day.

3) "You have as much chance as anyone of having a child with me."

4) "You are like a great dane puppy, all limbs and no coordination." - variations said all the time.