After hoping that He’d do it and get it over with…(and a few threats that were less than thinly veiled…) my beloved M came down with the East Coast Crud. It hits hard and fast and brutally, and He was laid low with it.
(this doesn’t speak all that well of me, actually, but what the hey…)
Yup. Now, mind you, it was before I knew that He was ill. But there’d been all this build up, and I was waiting and waiting…and nada. Nothing. No text. Not even ‘good night nilla’.
And I was going to shoot off a huffy little text in the morning. But to my credit, I didn’t. I thought about it a lot while I was working, and then later in the morning sent a text saying that I’d come to realize it didn’t matter if he punished me, how he punished me, or when he would punish me. That it’s not my call –not any of it. It’s all under his control, after all. So I was feeling better about things, in my own head. And then more nothing. No good girl. No “glad you worked that out, slut”, not even a “glad the Viking didn’t come for a visit” (though actually He repeatedly says he enjoys sparring with me when the Viking comes upon me…)
Nothing but silence.
THEN I find out he is feeling very poorly and had gone to bed as soon as he got out of work. Oh. Well then. It really *isn’t* all about me, is it?
But he’s feeling better, after a weekend spent resting. Which is reassuring. What is even more reassuring is the text I got this morning. That tonight’s prep would be 3 half-o’s. Reassuring and terrifying.
Reassuring and torturous.
Reassuring and maddening.
Dammit! I thought He’d forgotten…though he tells me he might forget something at the store, or where he put his favorite shirt…but he never, ever forgets when a punishment is owed Him. (I believe that, too!)
Hie ho…Hie ho…it’s off for torture I go.
(and okay, a wee bit of happiness that He’s feeling better enough to punish me.)
(but only a little.)