Angels protect children and fools.

I suppose I am luckier than many. My bills are manageable. I don’t have a family to support. And my cats seem pretty content. In other words, I am single. This means that I have the capability of spinning on my heels without pulling others down with me (except the cats). Also, I have a unique opportunity in my possession. I wont say anything about that here, though.

What grieves me most now is my job. Don’t get me wrong. The job has it’s good points. I don’t have to sell anything and I get to do something I am good at. I just hate that it’s in retail, subject to retail scheduling and retail goals. Are we making the numbers? Sorry, but you can’t take a vacation from October to the end of December. 1/4 quarter of the year is blacked out because people will need to fulfill their consumer wants.

The numbers game can never be won. Hey! you beat the goal. Guess what? We are going to raise it. Or too bad, you didn’t meet the goal so you get shafted in some way. Somehow those numbers are my responsibility and measure my success. Sorry, but I don’t measure success that way. I measure it in my relationships with customers. I measure my success in their success. The numbers are just easy ways to quantify things that can’t be easily summed up in words.

So a job change is definitely in order. The beauty is that I don’t need another full-time gig. I just need something that gets me out of retail. Also, something that is part-time would be great. This would give me time to work on other things important to me. Art. The pursuit of knowledge. Writing. Happiness. Sex. Love. (not in any particular order)

It’s an exciting time that will require me to screw up a huge amount of courage. Not only am I adjusting my employment perspective, but I am endeavoring to swing my spiritual and physical perspectives in alignment. Oh boy! did I just write an eyeful. But you did read it right.

Until recently, my alarm was set according to how narrow a window was needed to prepare for work. The rhythm of my day was set according to my clock-in/clock-out times. It was a bad focus. I did less with my evening hours and had no time to do anything with my morning hours. In other words, my day was defined by my job. I allowed my job to define who I am. Wow. The pretty much sucks.

I have taken that under control to a degree. I now wake early enough to get a walk in and eat breakfast before work. Instead of spending my evening watching the great big idiot box, I write and work on design projects. It’s amazing how a subtle change like a morning walk can have a huge impact. It fulfills both the spiritual (to a degree) and physical needs.

I am thirty pounds over weight. The walking helps me to drop weight. I will never again have my high school form, but at least I wont be huffing and puffing during sex. As Kevin Spacey said in American Beauty, “I just want to look good naked.” That will also have a huge impact on self-esteem.

The real challenge is my spiritual self. No, I am not looking to find Jesus, be born again, or open my third eye. What I am looking for is a better integration of experience, sensation, and self. Earlier, I mentioned my daily rhythm: wake, walk, shower, eat, work, eat, creative acts, shower, bed. Rhythm is a huge part of living. We survive because of rhythms. Rhythms determine hunger and sleep. Rhythms are found in our footsteps, breathing, and heart beat. It’s fundamental to existence. By being aware of my daily pattern, I am more able to manage it’s changes and consistency. This means, I hope, that I will be better able to feel the subtleties of the the day.

Also toward my spiritual ends, I want to re-embark on my erotic studies. This has always been the song in my heart. If there is such a thing. Since I was a child, I have been fascinated by human sexuality. During school I was drawn to it and likewise, it was drawn to me. My graduate studies found me drawn to people that placed a philosophical imperative on human sexuality and eros. And recently, I have gotten back in to ecstatic experiences (see Transactions: 2 of 2 Delilah pt.2 and Kinky Carnival.

It’s a long road ahead. That I am sure of. But It will be a worthwhile journey. The site will see a renovation. I am going to trim out the dead weight entries and focus the content on my journey and art. So keep coming back for updates.

The massage was our first since our re-acquaintance. It was full of emotion. Sierra had said that she liked to keep her appointments with friends as professional as possible. However, we ended talking very personally about life and happiness. I even shed tears. Sniffle. Sierra did put forward her best massage effort to date. It was a great massage. We enjoyed cups of tea, a walk, and a talk afterwards. A good session.

During our conversation, I mentioned that the Kinky Carnival was being held in my stomping grounds that night. Sierra had thought otherwise, but said she was going. A good carrot to put before me to insure that I would drag my lazy ass from the apartment and down the seven blocks to the Odd Fellows Hall.

The Kinky Carnival is an event organized by Teri Ciacchi. This year’s event was to support survivors and patients of uterine cancer which Teri belongs to the latter group. The Carnival, in its fourth year, is a sex positive event focused around kink culture. There were booths to sample various sensual experiences that are outside of the vanilla spectrum.

When I arrived, I was asked to sign an eleven point disclaimer/waiver. One of the waivers had me agree to the fact that I was not a member of law enforcement. I had to chuckle. If I showed up dress as a motorcycle cop and initialed that line, would I be received suspiciously?

Once the waiver was signed, I presented it to the cashier. She took the waiver and my cash. After checking my coat, I was escorted through the exhibits and instructed in the rules of play. Most play was limited to upper body, but there was very little left out in the scope of play. I could be tied, flogged, hugged, cuddled, kissed, bitten, shocked, eaten off of, pierced, massaged, touched with objects, and humiliated. What a smorgasbord!

I began with a little rope play. Tess is a gorgeous knot tier. She worked alongside of Max of BondageLessons.com. If she wanted, she could have had me hanging from the ceiling fans. Instead, as this was my first time, she opted for just a set of rope cuffs. I felt like I was in steel shackles. The wrists could not be moved together. It was such a simple knot, but it limited motion so well.

I wandered from Tess to the kissing booth. The woman there was gorgeous, too. Stacked like a brick shit house, but I could not stop looking at her eyes (which means that I never read her name tag). She just wanted to kiss people. She asked where I wanted to be kissed. “As I am tied up, I really think that is your choice.” She started with a steamy lip plant and worked to my neck. Glorioski! I think I spotted right there.

I walked around the rest of floor before returning to Tess. She was busy wrapping up another happy customer. So her other gorgeous colleague helped me come undone. Max is a lucky guy to have such attractive work mates.

The room lights blinked a few times. The show downstairs was about to begin. I made my way down and found a chair center row on the aisle. I had yet to see Sierra, but hope springs eternal. At the stage, Mistress Terry was having her boots polished by Peter. That’s not guy euphemism. Peter was dressed in a pilots jump suit and working a shoe shine kit. Mistress Terry’s knee high boots were getting a buffing and licking. Her black patent leather skirt shined against her dark skin. The arriving audience watched quietly.

The MC, a six foot glamorous biter, announced the shows commencement. I watched a French violinist/poet named Racoon, Teri sing the blues, a wonderfully graceful woman dance, another woman recite her seventh grade adventures with Debbie Does Dallas, a naked folk singer sing some of the funniest damn songs, and Peter get spanked by the MC and flogged by Mistress Kerry. The last put a thought into my head.

During the show I heard Sierra laughing from the corner. I glanced back and saw her leaned into her date on a bench near the rear corner. I have to admit a bit of jealousy. She left the show before me. I never did catch up with her that night. I wish I had. My glimpse was enough to catch that she was looking pretty hot that night. The jealousy had faded by the time I left the show. Oh well.

I finished my night with a good flogging. The line was short, but the wait was excruciating. In the meantime, I watched a woman get the spanking of a lifetime. She squirmed and twisted and the woman doling out the punishment twisted, pushed, and pressed the other. It was the funniest thing I saw. Then Elizabeth, my flagellator, put me up against the cross and beat the tar out of my shoulders. It was such a good feeling. Especially after Sierra’s massage.

Coat check was surprised that I was leaving before the Karnival closed, but work was just around the corner. I stopped by a local bar and got a favorite mixed drink. Felt a bit depressed that I was there by myself so the drink didn’t last long. The sting in my shoulder, however, still rings when I move just right.

Back at home, I slept like a baby. Work the next day felt like it was a thousand days from the night before. If it wasn’t for the lingering swipes of the flogger, I would have thought I had never gone to the Karnival, but only had dreamed it.

Here is a set of images culled from a dozen+ frames: .Mac Album.

Say ‘hello’ to my new housemates. I would offer names for them, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. The black cat may end up being called “Digger.” He thinks China is somewhere in the litter box and works diligently to locate it. The siamese mix (tan cat) hasn’t really showed me her name yet. Both kittens are great and have provided me a grand evening of entertainment. There was napping, sleeping, cat-napping, and short bursts of play.

Expect more intolerably cute videos. This one is my first. That being said, I can only hope to improve.

But what is going to happen in the periods between ad perusing, resume submissions, call-backs, and interviews? One idea I had was to get a cat. Stupid, I know. It’s like a lonely teenage girl letting herself get pregnant to fill the hours with unconditional love and the romance of parenting. None the less, a cat has been on my mind for a while and the free time at home will be a good chance to lay the ground rules and develop the connection.

To be frank, I am not too hip on the idea of finding another ‘job’. Like I mentioned last time, I don’t want to latch onto the first available employer that seems bearable. I want to find the dream situation. Decent pay, good hours, and engaging work. It’s the golden trifecta. What the details are to that is what I am having problems with. It’s going to take time to fill that in.

What can I do between? At least there I have a few ideas. I am not going to give them away here. At least not yet. Suffice it to say that I have always been very self-entertaining. It was never a matter of me not having something to do. I always manage to find projects to keep me occupied. Now it’s a matter of finding projects that I might do that can contribute to either their own up keep or even be a primary or secondary income. For a project to work at those levels, it needs time to be put together and nurtured.

I am about to get that. Now, it’s a matter of not wasting it and having courage to use it.

What bothers me is that “I don’t know” isn’t bothering me! I like to know where my next paycheck is coming from. No more than thirty days has ever elapsed between jobs. I’ll find something quick when I put my mind to it. Now though, I think the source of my paycheck is very important. It’s more than just putting roof overhead and food on the table. The job itself has to fill the spirit in some way. Yeah, that’s hokey, but it’s close to the truth.

What worries me now is what worries many people: What do I want to do? Ah the angst, the uncertainty. I feel like I should be in a French art house film. Set me down in a cafe and give me plenty of cigarettes and coffee. Suck the color from the world and the scene is complete. Most of the anxiety comes from the fact hat I have learned to do so many things over the past couple of decades. I learned things to survive. Know I have such a varied skill set, I am not sure what I should do.

Instead of jumping into the first job that comes available, I am going to take time to find the job that suites me. In between, I am going to take stock and assess my needs.

This is the feeling I have had for the past few months. I am working on acquiring Apple certifications. The company I work for is putting me through the training classes I need, shuttling me to my destinations, and flipping the bill for the tests. While getting the certifications is an accomplishment, the company’s goal is to have me later teach the classes I am taking. The score required to be considered a teaching candidate is further beyond the score needed to just receive certification. I have already taken one test three times. The above example exactly illustrates my situation. I am four lousy points away from consideration. Another test and it’s in the bag. Hell, with the leap I made between test two and three, I could ace the fourth attempt. I figure that I must have answered all the possible questions at least once and correctly, but never on a single test. Bugger!I should be proud, but I can’t help feel disappointed. I made a huge improvement, but still missed my goal.