Diary of a Kinky Librarian

I’ve felt saner the past couple of days than I did on Wednesday night. That’s the way things have been going lately – mostly feeling okay interspersed with feeling like shit. I saw my shrink yesterday and he prescribed a tranquilizer to help me through the rough patches. I like the fact that we’re just adding something to be taken as needed rather than another daily medication to the list. And I think I feel better just knowing I have something to take when I feel scarily like crap. There’s an underlying anxiety when I feel bad lately. Tranquilizing it might work. We have another medication option if this doesn’t work, which it makes me feel better to know as well. Sometimes having options is all you really need. It’s also nice to know there’s people on my side helping me through this. When I was younger I was always alone in all this.

The past two days I’ve mostly felt sane although tonight I’m feeling a bit depressed and agitated. I see my psychiatrist early tomorrow morning. While feeling normal for the past day, I’ve wondered if maybe I had made a big deal out of nothing. But in fact I hadn’t made a big deal out of it, I just mentioned this insanity to my therapist and she got very worried. It’s in my nature to feel bad about people worrying about me. After all, I’m not used to my own mother worrying much about me, so I’m used to just flying below the radar and suffering alone. I did tell Davey about all this the other night and he’s been expressing concern. And while it’s comforting to know that someone cares (and my therapist and shrink both called when it seemed like I hadn’t gotten back to the shrink, but in fact I had spoken to his receptionist about making an appointment) I hate people worrying about me. I think it might stem from some feeling of not being worth worrying about. Or some self-conscious response to feeling like a bug under a microscope. Yeah I think self-consciousness is the reason. I expect that people are now watching me, waiting for signs of craziness. And I’m afraid I might show them. I guess that deep down I don’t hate people worrying about me, I just hate the feeling of self-consciousness that goes along with it.

I’m tired of feeling like a broken human being. I’ve felt like this for so long. And just when I feel like I’ve gained some normalcy the depression comes back and I’m back where I started.

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I’ve been contemplating why I slept with the Irishman this week. After all, I don’t feel like I’m getting much out of it since all he ever talks about is sex and that’s clearly all he’s after. But I realized that I get a sense of power over having a man want me as much as he wanted me on Monday. There’s some level of control being this object of desire and this sense of worth that comes from it. It’s fucked up for sure, but I felt powerful after fucking him. I felt like his orgasm was in my hands, had I not decided to play along he would have gone unsatisfied. And I like that feeling of power.

I’d much rather be friends with someone I fuck, but for now I think I’m going this route with the Irishman because it feels good to be sexual for a change and to make a decision about my sexuality (when it feels like the assault made my decisions for me for the past two years). I don’t feel entirely good about it, but I suppose I am getting something out of it – a sense of power, however fleeting.

In stark contrast to the post before this, I had a good time today with the Irishman. I was very nervous as I feel like I still don’t know him as well as I’d like to, but typical me I gave in to my sexual urges anyway. The situation with him is clearly just sexual but I don’t know that I mind that. I wish he was in better shape than he is but he’s damn good with his fingers. He’s very passionate and I like that. While he wasn’t the best I’ve had, he was enjoyable. I’m happy to be slutting it up again. *grin* (I also got down with Davey this weekend a couple of hot, hot times. And what’s good is that I feel like my old, wanton self – I keep gradually getting more and more back to feeling like ‘me’ again.)

I did have a “mortifying moment” today though. I had an upset stomach this morning (nerves) and while I thought I took care of everything I discovered ’skid marks’ on the bedsheets after he fingered me. Yikes. EMBARASSING! Horrifying. I didn’t want to point out that I squirted because the skid marks were right there along with the puddle. Gross! I felt freaked out but if he noticed (I’ll bet he did) he didn’t say. Argh! How awful for the first time you’re with someone to be a time when something gross and embarassing happens. And then a little later, because my muscles bear down when I come, I think a wee bit was er, coming out my butt. Eww! He stopped fingering me kinda abruptly and things seemed a little out of sorts down there when I used the bathroom shortly after. I just wanted to fall through the floor! Still, he didn’t say anything and didn’t seem weirded out by me, so either it wasn’t as monumental as I think it was or even if it was he wasn’t freaked out by it. *sigh* This is real life folks. It’s not as smooth and mess-free as the porn flicks would have you think. Gah! I’m still horrified by this. So this afternoon was a strange combination of hot and horrifying. lol I’d prefer if it was just hot.

There must be something “off” with my meds. Today I admitted to my therapist (the only person I’ve admitted it to until now) that lately I get these random impulses/thoughts about killing myself. They’re really strange because I can easily rationalize why I don’t want to do that, but I’ll get a random thought like “Hey I could down all these pills easily.” or “I could drive my car off the road into a tree, just like that.” Or yesterday, I was in a restaurant and a cop stood near me with a thigh holster and I had the urge to just take the gun -not to hurt myself or anyone else, just to take it. It was a strong urge I had to fight. It makes no sense. It’s scary shit. Otherwise, I’m doing well. Yeah that sounds funny but in between these occasional lapses in sanity I’m doing well. Therapist and I think that it’s got to be med/chemical imbalance related because otherwise I’m really positive and things are going well (getting back to my old sexual, slutty self, but that’s another blog entry). Therapist offered to call my psychiatrist about it while I was there in therapy and I took her up on it. I just don’t want to deal with it so I’d be likely to just wait until my psych appointment next Monday rather than try to get something earlier. Now I’m trying to get a morning appointment before work sometime this week. And I’m trying to keep my head together.

I met up with the Irishman today and I was scared to wait for him at the train station because I read a story about someone jumping in front of a train nearby yesterday. I was scared I’d get that impulse again and do something rash. I did wait on the platform for him, but I made a conscious decision to sit away from the edge and keep myself ON the platform. I didn’t get the urge, but I was plenty anxious worrying that I would get the urge. This is weird shit and now that I’ve vocalized what’s going on I’m terribly anxious about it. I’m so scared I’ll feel compelled to do something rash and give in. For now I’m doing a great job of realizing how bizarre these thoughts are immediately and making a conscious decision to not act on them, but as my therapist pointed out all it takes is a matter of seconds for something bad to happen in these instances. I feel crazy. I hate feeling crazy. I had an incredible fear of going back to the mental hospital this morning in therapy (I was in for three months when I was 16, thanks to depression). I haven’t had that fear in years, but it felt possible. Scarily possible.

So now I’m going to keep it together as best I can and see my psychiatrist as soon as I can. On the outside everything looks fine. I’m sure Davey has no idea I’ve had these thoughts (although now that I’ve come out with it I plan to tell him about it tonight, although I really hate to worry him and I know he’ll worry). I’m sure the Irishman had no idea what a lunatic I feel on the inside while we hung out today. Funny thing is, sexually I’m feeling like my old self again and it makes me really happy. I got some good work-related news recently that made me very happy. And this weekend with Davey was just wonderful. So why am I having random thoughts of grabbing a cop’s gun in the midst of it?

YES! I just experienced something that I’ve never experienced before, and that’s quite a feat when it comes to me and sex. But…. with Davey working late this week I have a lot of time on my hands and well, we all know that idle hands do the devil’s work (yes!). I’ve been feeling a bit horny the past couple of days and I decided to make time this evening to do something about it. So I lay on the bed, equipped with lube, my beloved bullet vibe and one of my silicone dildoes. (I used the one I don’t usually use, for a change. The red sparkly one.) Soon I was coming and coming and then something amazing happened – I squirted. During masturbation. That had NEVER happened before. I could feel it happening as I came and I just knew there’d be a big wet spot on the bed underneath me. But I so overjoyed to be experiencing this during solo play that I didn’t care. The orgasms were magnificent, and I felt so in control and good and sexual. Luckily, I masturbated on Davey’s side of the bed and he’s sleeping in the spare room while he works long hours (extra snoring). So I will be able to cozy up on my side of the bed tonight while the wet spot dries out on the other side.

Yeah, the sheets need a washing. I’ll get to that. Thanks to flooding we can’t use the washer/drier in my building (and I ended up with a very wet load of laundry when I tried to use it and the landlord told me that no, I couldn’t. Yeah it wasn’t pretty. My hands are stronger than a couple of days ago thanks to wringing. And I took it in for a service wash (like on EastEnders!) and it weighed a ton from dampness despite drying overnight, so it cost mucho buckos. Gah. At least that’s the worst we’ve experienced from this flood. It could have been so much worse.)

But I have to say that my own personal flood tonight was much more fun than the storm on Sunday. *big grin* Whoo hoo! I feel good.

My region has just had record rainfall. House upon house on my block is flooded. Roads are closed. It’s been an adventure getting anywhere today (and wouldn’t you know I had the appointment to get the stitches out of my gums all the way across the county). I spent the morning getting to my periodontist’s office and back again. I’m really glad that I live on the second floor of a house, and not in a basement apartment! It’s supposed to rain a bit more for the next few days. I just want it to stop! All this makes me kinda glad I’m not currently a homeowner. I don’t need the headache of a flooded basement.

I chatted online with the Irishman for a bit yesterday afternoon. I’m not feeling quite so negative about him now. Not that we talked about anything deep or meaningful, I just have less reservations than before. I worry that I can’t tell any more what’s my instinct telling me to be careful, and what’s paranoia and mistrust from having been assaulted. And I have been a bit paranoid about things. (Thinking that hey, maybe this guy is friends with the one who assaulted me and this is some big plot to harm me again. I mean, what are the odds of that!?) While I was overdue to be a little less trusting, now I feel like I can’t trust anyone new. I’m a mess in some ways. Much better in other ways but I still have a way to go.

I finally heard back from the Latina, and to her credit she acknowledged that I had a valid point. And I was impressed by her ability to discuss differences rationally, like an adult. So I’ve sent a reply calmly and rationally explaining my side (um, it’s inconsiderate to not get back to someone about plans in a timely manner) and we’re left on a positive note ultimately. She’s busy the next few weeks so I suggested taking a break and then we’ll see what happens. I like a lot about her, just not this flaky side. She’s an intelligent woman who seems to deal with most things maturely. I figure we’ll see what happens in May when she thinks she’ll have more time. I’m not going to worry about it though. If something’s meant to come together it will, and if not then it won’t. I’m definitely taking effort out of dating for the time being. (Not that I’ve put tons in lately anyway.) I’m just kinda tired of things not working out. This is how my life has gone for the most part – a short flurry of dating that doesn’t work out followed by being fed up and taking a break. I’m glad when I can get to a place of peace with it and not feel inadequate because I’ve gotten rejected yet again. Dating is just a pain, there’s no getting around that.

I totally had my feminist sensibilities offended today. One young lady who uses my library stated quite firmly that she doesn’t want to go to college because he’s going to be a house-mom and have her husband support her. Ay yi yi. She seems to think that her step-mother, who is a stay at home mom, doesn’t do anything all day. I tried to explain to her that running a household is work (and it’s often unsatisfying work at that) and that she’d be at her husband’s mercy for everything. Gah. The incredible lack of independence amazes me. This girl’s highest aspiration is to be a breeder who stays at home doing nothing. She’s a smart girl so this really leaves me dismayed.

What happened to the feminist movement’s gains? Why don’t young women today have a sense of how important independence is? We still have a long way to go if smart young women just want to be breeder layabouts. I can’t imagine this girl feeling happy or fulfilled when she eventually gets her wish. Of course this also relies on her finding someone to marry her. There’s plenty of men today who expect that their wives will contribute to family income. Indeed, in this part of the country it’s often vital for survival. I can only imagine the kind of neanderthal this girl will marry. It depresses me. What happens if her husband divorces her? She’ll be uneducated, inexperienced and have kids to take care of. This just looks like a huge recipe for disaster.

It’s been less than a hundred years since women gained the right to vote in this country. My grandmother was born into a world where women didn’t have suffrage. Women could only be nurses, school teachers or work in factories when she was growing up (which is why she opted to become a nurse). I’m not sure when this changed, but for a good long time women had no rights to any of their property – their children included. In the 1800’s a woman leaving an abusive relationship only had the right to the clothes on her back. Women were put into terribly restrictive and sometimes damaging situations. We must not forget this! Women still don’t have the same upward mobility that men do. An indication of this is how professions that are predominantly and historically held by women (like librarianship) are still sorely underpaid. (Teachers and nurses have unionized and fought and made gains. Librarians are behind the times. I make far less with my master’s in library science than I did with just a bachelor’s degree working in a corporation.) Caregiver professions, so often held by women, are generally under appreciated and underpaid. “Women’s work” is still looked down upon. Sexism is still rampant, it’s just less overt than it used to be. Homophobia is rooted partially in sexism.

I get so upset when I hear the next generation willing to give up all the gains so many women fought so hard and long to get.

I’m still recovering from my gum grafting (and I suspect it didn’t “take” which leaves me back at square one). I’m working tomorrow (sixth day this week). And I still haven’t heard from the Latina. (Damn good thing I didn’t write back saying I’d take her up on her offer to hang out tomorrow… I’d still be hanging – again.) I think I’m pretty much over her; I’m just waiting to see her eventual response to my email. I’m not sure I even want a response at this point. It’s shame because she has a lot of good qualities, but being flaky and inconsiderate are high on my list of things I can’t tolerate.

And so yet again I’m frustrated in my attempts to date a woman. I think for the moment I’m swearing off women. I should change all my polyamorous dating profiles to say I’m only looking to meet men for now. Maybe then a woman worth spending time on would come along. Bah. I give up.

With men at least I usually know what’s going on. Like with the Irishman – I think it’s pretty clear that he’s just looking to get laid, and I haven’t ever really believed his assertion that he’s in an open marriage – but I know what the deal is, even without him being honest about it, and I can make my decision to shag him or not accordingly. As of right now I’m planning on shagging him when I’m next off from work on a weekday. I’m not entirely sure why I’m planning to do it either. I think maybe I just want to be wantonly sexual again – fuck having a connection with someone. I just want to enjoy sex for sex’s sake. I’m not entirely convinced that this encounter will bring that but I think that’s why I’m going forward with it despite reservations. I’m just a bit annoyed with him because he’s clearly not been totally honest with me (which I construe to mean he thinks I’m stupid enough to believe lies) and what’s a guy doing looking to meet someone on a polyamory site when all he’s really looking for is sex? Go use the myriad swingers sites out there!

I feel like a cynical bitch because I figure I can just fuck him the once and if it’s not as hot as I hope it will be then I can just tell him to take a hike. We do have sexual chemistry though, so who knows. I wander back and forth between being annoyed with him and being turned on by him. It all makes me appreciate Davey even more because I know what I get from him – he’s honest, he’s communicative. I really lucked out meeting him, because so many people are just assholes.

This morning, I had a dream that all these books were in the wrong place on the shelves in my library. Some page had lazily mis-shelved them – fiction in the non-ficiton section, adult books in the juvenile section. And, aggravated, I had to take the time to pull all the mis-shelved books off the shelves and onto a cart to be re-shelved. I was ranting to the clerks about the lousy job someone did while I pulled the books off the shelves. Next thing you know, the book cart turned into a shopping cart and it was filled with mis-shelved books.

I guess that’s the librarian’s version of a nightmare. *grin* But the perk of being librarian is that I didn’t have to re-shelve them. Contrary to popular belief, librarians do not (usually) shelve books!