Remorse

I despise the first two days of my period, and not just because I feel like Freddy Krueger's throwing a celebration inside my skin while my head implodes. No, it's also because I have this awful feeling of remorse. It's a sensation which I go to great lengths to avoid. I did not turn in the $120 I found in the milk cooler last month because I'm a good person, nope. It was because remorse and guilt are two of my least favorite emotions.

So it's really a terrible truth for me that I'm a raging bitch the week before my period. Yes, it has gotten better over the years, yes our hierarchy helps control it, and yes, it is a hormonal storm a bit beyond the norm because, well because my hormones come from their own special level of hell.
Before you ask, yes it is warm there and yes, that is the alternate dimension where some idiot lets me wield the whips and chains. And yes, in the midst of the moment, I believe everything that I just said.

Then the storm abates leaving me curled up on the couch, cringing at the sight of the destruction left in its wake, and feeling something which Alpha informs me is commonly known as remorse.

The fall is really a rather spectacular display of extremes.

I just spent a week in constant trouble spinning on the edge of acceptable behavior and not really caring what he thinks (she cringes), and now suddenly...All I want is to curl up at his feet, to know that I have pleased, for him to be happy with me, and to feel that I am where I belong.

Ah remorse. It really is a bitch.