Hello, My Beauties,
Welcome back to my little corner of the interwebs. I’ve got a confession to make: I haven’t started the next step in my EroticAdventure. I’ve been calling and emailing my congress-persons and the State Department about the horror LGBTQIA folks in Brunei are facing. The Decameron can wait another week.
I may have also done a fair amount of yelling at my TV, but that’s normal and does exactly zero in terms of making any political impact. It makes me feel better, though. At least for a short period of time.
I am pretty jazzed that my participation in Tabitha Rayne’s #30DayOrgasmFun Masturbation for Mental Health Boost has been on point.
I think it’s offered some ease when it comes to the shenanigans my body gets up to right around this time of the month. Last week I mentioned that I have a chronic illness called Systemic Lupus Erythematosus (dare you to say it five times fast. No, don’t, you’ll sprain your tongue and there are way better things to be doing with your tongue than chanting disease names).
Lupus is awful, and I have a relatively moderate case, which means my immune system isn’t actively trying to kill me at the moment. I receive a monthly infusion of medication that keeps my body’s auto-immune responses in check. Toward the end of each monthly cycle, the meds start to wear off, and I start to feel craptastic. Fevers. Chills. Joint pain and swelling. Trouble walking. Tremors. And some memory problems. It’s a laugh riot.
I’m kidding. It’s a fucking drag and staying positive is rough going. I’m two days away from my infusion as of this posting and I’ve noticed I’m having an easier time dealing with the suck this time around. I have more mental and emotional energy, which has given me the ability to breathe through the frustration of forgotten sentences, broken plates, spilled cups of tea, and aching joints.
Is it all because I’ve been getting off every day?
Maybe? From a scientific perspective, the difference between last month and this month is the daily dose of self-love. Specifically, setting time aside time for masturbation as self-care.
It turns out, that when I strip down to my wicked curves, I also give myself permission to be 100% in-the-moment.
I’m not worried about finishing the current WIP (work in progress for the uninitiated) or obsessing over the three years it’s taken to research and write half of a historical novel. There’s no freaking out about money, health, the house, or the world.
The time is mine and I’m guarding it like a greedy dragon curled around a pile of precious gems.
My touch. My breath. My life. My pleasure.
It’s golden. I love it and I’m not so pissed off at my body because I’m adding pleasure to my day-to-day experience. Is it changing my relationship with my physicality? I hope so.
Also, I’ve never been happier to own a rechargeable vibrator, but that’s a subject for another time.
Be Well, Be Wonderful, and Above All, Be You.