From 2 (?) days ago:
Mistress asked me a question and then started counting down from 15 as i typed out an answer, which had to include an emote.
More than 15 seconds? Zap. Wrong answer? Zap. If She didn't like answer? Zap. If she did like the answer? Probably a zap.
This was an exercise in grace under fire, dealing with stress and speed typing. Based on my results, i could use a few more lessons. Geez what am i saying?!?
i've mentioned this before... that i am probably the least qualified person there is to have to beg for something. i don't know how or where to begin and i've never wanted or needed something badly enough to have to actually beg for it. i've just 'begged' with money in the past.
[11:53] Jacquelin Mazi nods with a light sigh: "I know.... but perhaps part of being a slave... is to ache for your Owner.... part of being a slave is begging for something... "
This is another skill i need to develop if i am to be pleasing to Mistress. It is funny how once you ask for something, life has a way of giving it to you.
Not only do i not know how to beg, i don't even know when to beg without being told to. i have a lot to learn, not just about begging.
How to relax in a developing nation:
Hop into a steaming tub of gritty brown mostly water. Being here reminds me of camping in some ways.
How to get ready for work in a developing nation:
Tightly close all body parts that open, shower quicky* and pretend that for some reason the shower water is cleaner than what comes out of the spigot.
*blogger suggests that the proper spelling of this word is 'quickie.' It doesn't suggest 'quickly.' My hate affair with blogger trudges on.
How to brush your teeth in a developing nation:
Bottled water and American toothpaste.
When I was younger, maybe 8 or 9, my mother’s husband Paul had a record collection that he doted on. He gave it his complete devotion and when he would listen to a record it was like he was transported. He had this old stereo with tubes in it (that was nearly the size of a refrigerator) and listened on headphones so there was kind of a mystique about it. So private and exclusively his and whatever happens Paul, don't let US hear your crappy music. We aren't worthy.
He forbade each of us to even go near it, which of course made us all want to. If he had never said not to touch it, we wouldn’t have cared about it but he always made such a big deal, like there was something about it that we weren't fit to experience. It was just classical records. Whatever Paul.
I remember when i did sneak a look through the records (many times), i was sort of unimpressed and wondering what the big deal was but mostly i felt like i was committing a huge crime against humanity. i was touching the records! *gasps* i felt so guilty and knew that i shouldn’t be doing it but i was so curious. i still sometimes wish that the reward for my stealthy little crime had been more enjoyable but it was truly a disappointment. All the nervousness and peeking over my shoulder… for nothing really. It just reaffirmed that Paul was a turd.
Holding one of the records in my hands should have been electric somehow but it was just stressful, like holding a gun after a bank robbery. Part of me wanted to take it out and listen to it, part of me was bored with it and part of me (the biggest part by far) felt like i should put it back and run away, far from the stereo and the records and never go near them again.
The hypocrisy part came when Paul would warn us away from his records on pain of death and then during mandatory family worship time (daily at 6 pm regardless of anything), he would tell us the evils us storing up treasures on earth and putting too much emphasis on physical things and too little on spiritual matters. Whatever Paul. Lead by example much?