Warning to all spankos

A word to the wise: non-vanilla life can be damn painful, and I don't mean the good kind of pain.

I just need to voice frustration and pain. Maybe I just need to suck it up. But it's so hard.

You never can get exactly what you want. So how do you decide on something? Is choosing your friends (and then choosing between your friends) as simple and crude as comparing brands of bread at the grocery store? Why can't you have different kind of breads in your kitchen? Why does it end up in bread clashes?

And why do I have this great need for my various breads to understand me completely? So that I end up talking too much...like I'm doing right now. Kill me now.

My dad is helping me do my taxes, and I just realized I have an entire W-2 that I overlooked. Perhaps all that tax-return money I thought was mine really isn't after all. My dad is getting over a horrible cold and he spends his stronger moments ironing out glitches in my taxes. I feel guilty and spoiled.

May be it's warranted. May be it's not.

At the hotel where I met College Guy, we'd had a long day at the zoo and had returned after eating Thai Food. And I was in a bad mood. I was feeling ungrateful, dissatisfied with myself and him and everything in between. And I didn't know why. But the truth came out.

I stared down at the bedspread. We were supposed to be playing a board game, but instead I was grumbling and philosophizing about how terrible life was, and at one point, I told him that he wasn't giving me what I needed. That I needed someone to be mean. To punish me not because I needed it and they would help me. But to punish me because they wanted to hurt me, because they liked hurting me. He flipped. I remember the sound of his voice, like he was trying to speak past a lump in his throat, like speaking was difficult. I didn't look at his face.

"Stay there, I'm going to go get lotion. If that's what you think you need, then I'll give you a taste of it. You're so wrong, Bonnie-jo. You don't need that."

"Just leave me alone. Like I said, I don't want you to do it. I want someone who doesn't care to do it." I grumbled.

"I'm going to blister your butt, because that's what you think you need, but then we're going to talk about this."

"It won't help. Please don't!"

Then there was that look. And then in the strongest voice I've ever heard from him, "Get over the end of the bed. Now."

I ended up over his lap somehow. I couldn't keep still. It got to the point where I was biting the bedspread, fighting hard.

But it didn't change me. I'm still the same. Still, I like thinking about it.