When "Negging" Meets Reality

I had heard about negging about a year ago through a webcomic called XKCD and I really thought nothing of it. Okay, I thought "there's no way that actually works so there is no way some dude would actually try it."

But here lately I've started getting really strange emails from men who, for some reason, feel that if they "put me in my place" with a well timed insult or derisive observation I will somehow drop everything I am doing to talk to them. Now I'll leave alone the fact that it's ONLY white men (within a certain age range) doing this because I don't feel like getting into the social history of THAT kind of behavior and instead say;

Negging will not work on me. I will either ignore you OR respond with a simple "No thank you." and that will be that.

This is not 1946 and I am not impressed.

Theology, Polyamory, and Sucking at Dating

So I'm debating obtaining a Masters and Doctorate and my areas of study would be Theology or Western Esotericism. Frankly, neither of these fields are particularly lucrative and it's kind of a "what's the point" kind of thing but sue me, I'm kind of a romantic. A Pablo Neruda/William Blake-like romantic.

While I try to figure out what I want to be when I grow up I'm also trying to figure out how the hell I managed dating BEFORE becoming married and polyamorous especially considering how shitty I am at it now. I mean seriously guys? I think my cat might be better at this than I am. 

So my best mate from work is going to dress me up and take me to McCormick's to pick up some unsuspecting bloke who won't realize how difficult I am until I ask him his political affiliations because I REFUSE to let a Republican stick his dick in me. A bitch has principles after all. 

So I've been instructed to "dumb it down" and don't talk about books and art and stuff and instead focus on easy subjects like movies and music; while not delving into complex themes because that scares people off. So yeah. I'm working on it.

Honestly, I think the doctorate might be easier.

Porne as Art

Lately I've become obssessed with eroticism in a purely artistic sense.

All of this means I've been looking at pornography with an eye towards detail, form, and execution. Because porn is REALLY easy to fuck up. A bad camera angle, an annoying voice, breasts so inflated they ripple under the weight of saline or silicone, each "error" can cause the mind to pull away from what is being represented. 

So far, I've often found that homosexual porn tends to be the most aesthetically pleasing when pulled off well. This could be because I find the male form to be undeniably beautiful and so two men together is just beauty on top of beauty, especially when I've spent most of the afternoon looking at the paintings of Michelangelo or reading various thoughts on Platonic love.

It's my theory that this form of porne is as much about "fucking" as it is about the worship of a stunning male frame in shadows, and dips, with rigid hip-bones and planes instead of curves. In this sense both figures become Bacchus and the central focus of the film. And interaction with instead of a doing to.

When I compare this with vanilla heterosexual film it's obvious where the gaze in the latter format is intended to go. The assumption is that the male is more focused on what is being done to the woman in the scene and so the male's role is downplayed if not outright ignored. The woman, being normally in a passive/accepting role, is reduced to shrill squeals and melodramatic exhilations that show a lack of intensity and focus during the fuck.

It lacks authenticity in its execution. 

It seems the only spaces this does not occur is in many BDSM related films, where both parties are needed to set the "scene" and the play of light and sound, the vibrations, are necessary for full stimulation and in some lesbian films where the play of sinuous curve is necessary for arousal.

When done correctly, the movement of the bodies isn't polished as much as they are in perfect sync with the ambience of the piece. A darkened room with harsh lines is shattered easily by piercing screams that don't seem to match what is happening. And contrived faces pulled into animalistic grimaces don't speak of passion or even lust, but an extreme bastardization of the two.

I view pornography as an art. An erotic one. Maybe even a divine one when done properly. Brief homages to Aphrodite in some of her many forms and for this reason, I feel it deserves more respect than it is often accorded, not only by those who have nothing to do with it, but by those who produce it.

We've moved beyond the era of mosaics painted on Roman bath houses, and nudes fashioned from delicate marble, to actual trembling flesh captured forever before our eyes in display of carnal transcendence.

It SHOULD behave a such.

But I'm probably just overthinking smut.

I tend to overthink a lot of things.

What happened to The History Channel?

No. Really guys. What, the fuck, happened?

They Rock my World

Some of the most inspirational people to me are "whores" and "terrorists." I put those in parentheticals for a reason as my networking and writing have made sex-workers, Arab activists, Pro-Palestinians, radical Blacks and Native Americans, and sharp-tongued Communists some of my closest cohorts. 

We share thoughts and encouragement with each other. Those outside the herd on the fringes huddled together for warmth surrounding bonfires of truth, justice, and frailty. From the U.K. to Syria to Egypt, Thailand, India, and the U.S. we pen our words and put them out into the ether, like message bottles filled with real-life experience and social malevolance. 

We attempt to understand each other's struggles and find the intersectionality that binds us together and just when I feel frustrated, like my work isn't enough, like every dollar sent and spent won't bring this world any closer to being any better; someone swoops in with a quote from Marx, or the story of a night with an awful client, or pictures of hollowed eyes or mutilated corpses; and I remember why I fight. 

Why I raise hell.

These people rock my world. They keep me connected to reality in a society and culture hell bent on numbing itself with mindless entertainment, consumerism, and easy questions. 

So I wax poetic with Satanists and Atheists and nod my head along to the insights of journalists too angered by complacency to be polite anymore.

And I wrap my fingers around the chaos and breathe in deep the aromatic fragrance of kinship and understanding. We're all so different, but we're all disciples of the same truth, the same desire, to see things better than how we found it.

They rock my world because they remind me that it is not just MY world after all. 

And I'm all the better for it.

Pet names. Knock it off and other Observations

Unless we know each other pre-Collarme, please don't call me pet names. No "sweetie" or "honey" or "hun" or "babe" or "girl." That implies a level of familiarity we don't have and is just plain fucking creepy. 

Seriously, if you can't have a decent conversation without talking about sex why the hell would I want to talk to you at all? I can get a rough dicking, international if I want, from fucking NOVA-Alexandria campus.  I'm like kryptonite to dumb guys from overseas who think American=easy. So why the hell would I GO ONLINE for domestic, single-minded, ass?

Don't be pressed. DON'T BE PRESSED. DON'T. BE. PRESSED. I work a full time job, attend the gym regularly, AND have hobbies and past times. Do not "poke" me if I don't respond to your text fast enough for you. I'm assuming your life is busy and if it isn't? That's not my problem. Pressing me to talk to you all the time like you own me will only make me annoyed and talk shit about you to my girlfriends.

I don't need your sob story. Life is hard. I get that. Telling me all of your sad shit and whining every time we talk while, simultaneously, shooting down every way to solve a problem will get you igged real quick. I've had to pull myself up, if you're a MALE I won't cut you any kind of slack unless you have some kind of actual disability.

Seriously guys. This is like shit people grow out of in college.

Don't make me get the clue-by-four.

What's Poppin' ? Album Recs

I've been on a heavy metal kick for the past 2 years soooo, all of these albums are going to be some of the dankest metal you'll find this side of the Atlantic. And by that I mean, most of it's imported; because for some reason our brothers of another mother from the North manage to put out some damn good metal; SO!

Katatonia: Night is the New Day

                  Dead End Kings

                  The Great Cold Distance

(FYI, Katatonia is probably one of the best bands I have ever heard and they've steadily replaced some of my other favorites like...)

Be'Lakor: The Frail Tide

                  Stone's Reach

                  Of Breath and Bone

Omnium Gatherum: New World Shadows

                                 The Red Shift

Soilwork: The Living Infinite

                 Steelbath Suicide

Amon Amarth: Surtur Rising

                         Twilight of the Thunder God

The Deftones: White Pony

                        Around the Fur

Dethklok: Dethalbum I 

(There are some people who think the second and third Dethalbums were just as good and I really don't agree. The first album is one you can listen to all the way through and just be like "Damn, am I drooling? How the fuck...what...why...huh?")

Insomnium: Above the Weeping World

                     In the Halls of Awaiting

So this is just the death/doom/heavy metal. I'll probably posting my favorite Finnish/Swedish/German folk metal at some point too. I have to write that shit down because I can't really spell the band names. Don't look at me like that! That shit has more vowels than are ever really necessary. 

I'll handle the book recs at some point too.

I didn't think people would actually take me seriously about recommeding reading material. LOL!

I. Love. Eargasms.

You ever hear a song/band/artist that makes your heart leap into your throat? Makes your brain go into a loop of pleasure until repeating the words and melody is the only way you'll remain sane?

A lot of music does that for me. From death metal and Finnish progressive, to deep house, hip hop, synth-pop, blue-grass, and classical. I have favorite composers I can recognize just by their "sound" no matter the period in their career. And as much fun as listening to music can be, the real joy is finding talented artists you've never dreamed of.

Tripping through Youtube on "full album" forays is what, ultimately , led me to purchase Motley Crue's "Shout at the Devil" and Saxon's "Rock the Nations."

And the beauty of bhangra came manifest in the soundtracks for Bollywood hits like "Khabi Kushi Khabi Gham" and "Devdas."

Music transcends nationality, language, and religion. So a pissant polytheist in Virginia can feel the joy in Abdel Kader and the sarcasm of Hopsin. Sips of absinthe sit well with Dir en Grey, while Jane's Addiction and Velvet Revolver pull at muscle like heart strings. You're almost forced to lose yourself.

This is how I spend many of my days. Spinning folk tales out of musical notes and regurgitating euphoric half-truths with modern bards as my muses.

A Day in the Life

I think I said this in an email exchange once but I use this journal as a way of showing people what I'm like BEFORE they email me. According to my husband I'm a 15 year old white boy stuck in a 28 year old black woman's body. I call blasphemy. His evidence seems to be the fact that I use "that's what she said" on a fairly regular basis and call him "dude" more than "honey" or "sweetie."

Fuck that. I'm me and the "me" of right now is working from home and attempting to not froth at the mouth due to a boss who doesn't understand Data sets or math for that matter. There are two things that really irk me and both deal with illiteracy. 

There's also something surreal about watching the hubby pack his bag to spend the weekend with his girlfriend/slave. I mean, don't get me wrong, I already have plans and am wickedly excited about hanging out with the girls on Saturday, doing my hair, hitting the gym, and maybe getting the house cleaner than I can when he's here; but I can't say I ever imagined myself being involved in an open marriage.

Fuck, I didn't imagine myself getting married. My ideal life was a studio apartment filled with books, bohemian furniture, one hookah, and 2 cats. I had always assumed the married life wasn't for girls like me; high on a reckless disregard for convention, dusty historical tomes, and too much random energy. So the shift from being single, to being engaged, to being in a polyamorous marriage seemed to perfectly mirror who I am as an individual.

Monogamy had NEVER been one of my strong suits. I am just not suited to being someone's "everything" and I've broken out into hives behind being stuck wanting when the individual I'm with insists they be my "everything" while failing miserably. I mean why even go through that?

So I make friends and maybe, one day, will have some kind of friends with benefits thing going on; where sex isn't the end all be all and doesn't HAVE to happen for anyone to feel validated or secure.

So I watch my husband pack, and preen, and pick implements of torture while being only slightly envious at the fact that he appears to be better at this whole "dating" thing then I am. 

And I smile. 

He's getting the attention he deserves and needs from two women who genuinely care about him...and I get the house to myself for a few days.

Which totally means gaming and, maybe, dancing around naked to old Hair Metal jams.

Shit.

My life is pretty fucking swanky.

Endorphins Are One HELL of a Drug

I normally hit the gym right after work and today I spent my time building up my endurance. After running for maybe 20 minutes, things just start to turn off. You get high. Or at least I do. I can't feel my legs and I'm just counting the each time my feet touch the ground. 

Sounds bleed away. The clank and grunts of heavy lifters disappears into a vacuum that leaves nothing behind but the sound of my own blood in my ears. It's a rush and it's highly addictive. So when my husband said we should have a little session post work-out? A bitch was like "Hell yeah!" 

I wish I could describe how amazing it really was. My pain tolerance is already ridiculously high, so the sharpness of the cane and the sting of the riding crop morphed into this warming sensation that coursed along my veins full throttle. I took another hit and another and I probably won't "crash" until later tonight. 

On top of riding the most amazing rush I've had in a few weeks, I heard a group of children playing outside. At some point one of the boys said he was going to "go get" someone. But a little girl, already becoming a Spartan in her own right said "No! We have to fight our own battles!" and another girl whooped in agreement.

For a few minutes I basked in the bliss of knowing that these girls are the future. They fight their own battles and they aim to win. 

Maybe I'll make one day a week "Endorphin Overdose" day and crash into bed after a hot shower completely worn out and content. 

Yeah. 

That sounds tits.

Things That Make You Go; Why Did I Do That?

I signed up for the Spartan Race which, if you don't know, is a 10-12 mile obstacle course with about 90 obstacles and the chance of getting severely injured.

Why did I do this?

Because I want to challenge myself. And while I can run 5 miles nonstop right now, that isn't enough. My training has to pick up significantly so I can be ready to go with my team.

As I sit here, nursing arms that refuse to cooperate and burning abs and thighs, I ask myself; Why the fuck did I sign up for this!?!

Pitiless Heathen

I was called this today.

It made me smile.

Twitter: Shitting on my Dreams

Okay so that's a little dramatic. I used to work in theatre so SUE me if I have a flair for hyperbole. I just joined Twitter at the top of March, like literally, I am hella new and already I feel a little addicted. 

When I'm on the elliptical at the gym, I tweet. When I'm in the grocery store, I tweet. When I'm sitting on my sofa playing Borderlands 2 or Gears of War while drunk off my ass on a delicious microbrew, I tweet. Because Twitter is like the internet for people with ADHD. A fast paced kamikaze shit storm of 140 character sound bites and snark.

Twitter is about wit. What kind of punch can you pack in such a small space? And as you get better at it, you gain followers and soon people are starring your shit and it's like, the biggest ego boost when some random stranger nods in your direction like "Oh, you're one clever bitch."

There. I said it.

And as quickly as you "lose" a follower due to crass observations surrounding the magnificant beauty of twink porn, you gain three more; all as lewd and defiled in nature as you.

If Google+ is where innovation is made, Twitter is where you learn ways to use the word "cunt" as a verb.

And I totally just wrote a blog post about that shit.

Just now.

#seriouslyneedsalife

No AC, Bad Vibes, and Sangria

We live in one of those condominium complexes where the management decides when you get heat and air conditioning. Virginia isn't as bad as Georgia but the early spring heatwave turning my home  into a boiling sauna is enough to make me wish for a nice thunderstorm or 3 to cool things off.

And right now I'm sitting here, in a sticky wife beater and the shortest shorts I can find, with sweat dripping between the girls because when it's 80 degrees inside typing really IS some form of exercise. 

I'd recently started "talking to" a bloke who I had met here over a year ago. We kind of reconnected out of nowhere, started texting, and even met up for a burger (I paid since the bill was like nothing.) But something just didn't sit right with me about him. My spidey senses were tingling and I couldn't figure out why.

Then I realized what it is. Dude and I don't really have a lot to talk about. Like at all. I mean sure, he's cute, but that's like IT and that's pretty fucking boring. We have nothing in common aside from, perhaps, a mutual desire to see each other naked. Dull. Dull. Dull.

So now I'm trying to find a polite way of saying "Ya know, just don't text me anymore. I'm not feeling you like that..." and I'm trying to do it before I get too far into this bottle of Sangria and am half distracted by trying to get to Ultimate Vault Hunter Mode in Borderlands 2. Because alcohol plus me shooting things in the face equals blunt and to the point because a bitch has XP to gain to hit her level cap.

Pay day is tomorrow. 

Someone is getting some head tonight. *eyes Amazon wishlist*

Word.

Socialist.

Womanist.

Militant.

Black Woman.

For some, these are scary ass words. They never say that outright, because to do so might impede them getting laid, but it's a stifling undercurrent that swirls around the dialogue and chokes it off at various points. From these four things it is always concluded that I am "sensitive" or "angry" never "principled" and "disciplined."

Because it takes the latter qualities to actually function in a society that would rather I shut up and sit down than speak. And I do speak. Candidly, but with as much charm as I can muster considering the circumstances. I am a child of third world destruction and first world dreams. I can manuever through most situations with a studied ease and grace that comes from HAVING to change who I am depending on who I am talking to.

One voice can go from lilting and tinkling to husky and rhythmic.

So the stilted attempts to mollify me, to calm a storm that isn't there, is hurtful at best and aggravating at worst. I wear my body-politic on my sleeve not to intimidate but to be honest. You can SEE me. I am more than a sum of my parts. I am more than a 5'5 bundle of muscle, nervous energy, dark humor, and ecstatic Dionysian worship.

I spread the salt of passionate conversation to ward off the evils of complacency and fear.

You can talk to me. I do not bite.

The Dirge of Socialism

If you haven't been able to tell by my political posts, I'm a socialist. A Democratic Socialist to be precise. The good fortune I've had is a mixture of luck, my own ambition, and the kindness and interaction I've experienced from fellow American citizens.

I believe it is my responsibility to insure the same good fortune for those who travel along the same road as I or are just starting out. Rome was not built in a day and great civilizations tend to fall the moment people start looking out for "number one only." (The transition from a Roman Empire to the Roman Catholic Church kind of proves this.) 

Hugo Chavez died today and while he didn't play any role in my life, I felt a twinge of sadness. Another man, flawed as he was, who actually spoke up for the downtrodden, the minority, the underrepresented, and maligned. Another revolutionary who refused to cater to the death grip of Western imperialism and, instead, told us to go fuck ourselves. With no lube if you please.

My heart feels heavy. I felt the same heaviness with the passing of Benazir Bhutto and I wonder just how these figures can come into the world in a whirlwind and leave just as quickly. Only a legacy and the whispers of history are left of their dying flame.

Neither of these individuals were saints. I never expected them to be. They weren't messiahs or any other kind of religious icon decked in the treacherous cautionary signs of blasphemy. They were human beings as flawed as I am;as flawed as any of us. But, instead of being afraid of being human, they embraced it and fought for change anyway.

Tonight I lit two candles for Senior Chavez and will be pouring libations for him at some point tomorrow. I pray that his god receives him. I pray that his christ, Yeshua Ben Yussef, opens his merciful arms to him and wraps him tightly in divine grace and everlasting love.

And I also pray that one day, he will look down at us, his fellow citizens of the world and not feel the pangs of disappointment.

A Rant on Taxes

I spent Valentines Day evening taking care of my sick hubby and doing my taxes. I'll leave alone the fact that I think Valentines Day is a load of consumerist horse shit and focus purely on the taxes thing.

My taxes never take me long. It normally depends on two documents; my W2 and my 1099 from my business. That's it. I don't take deductions, I don't find some way to weasel out of paying my share, and in the end I always get money back. The thing is folks, I consider taxes to be one of the necessary "evils" of living in a first world country. I went to public school, I drive on public roads, I use parks, libraries, and museums, all wonderful things paid for with my tax dollars. 

So it irks me when I encounter people claiming deductions for all kinds of shit because, in essence, I am subsidizing their lifestyle and while I don't mind helping people in need, I have something of an issue when someone who makes the same amount as me finds ways of absolving themselves of responsibility as citizens. 

1. Tax deductions for having kids: Shouldn't exist. I'm sorry, if you can't afford to raise them then why did you have them? And yes, I do consider having to claim deductions as saying you can't "afford" your life choice. Further more, as someone who is child free, I'm helping to pay for your child's education while you're selfishly screwing other people over.

2. Tax deductions for giving to charity: See above. If you couldn't afford to give the money, why did you?

3.Tax deductions for being married: I file separately. 

"But you won't get as much money back."

Motherfucker we are in debt, mainly because people vote like idiots so I might as well do my part. And why do I get more money for being married? The assumption is that there are two incomes so I'm not really understanding the math there...or the logic.

So I have no problem paying my taxes and think nothing of it. Sir and I plan to move to Europe where the taxes are higher, yes, but where the citizens can actually expect more then just a few basics for their money. Because taxes aren't just about "taking money from people" but are the monetary glue that holds first world countries together. They help provide us with a standard of living that's unparalleled in much of the world.

And I'll gladly pay for that.

So get off "welfare" and actually pay your due.

So Where are the Normal People?

Admittedly, I'm not saying I'm the most normal person in the world but I have a couple of things;

1. A job

2. A life

3. The ability to have normal emotional interactions with individuals I don't know.

4. Social/Emotional/Mental independence

So the fact that, probably, 99%, of the individuals I've met on this site are lacking 2 or 3 of these "basics" kind of bothers me a little bit. No, I'm not looking for a second husband, but I do expect an individual to have hobbies and interests outside of hunting down their next girlfriend/victim/piece of ass.

And the complete dumbing down I've had to do to engage in conversation at times can be downright obnoxious. I'm a living, thinking, human being looking to speak with and interact with OTHER living, thinking, human beings and as such, I kind of expect people to have vibrant existences they can't wait to share with someone who shares a similar joie de vivre.

Is that too much to ask?

I read plenty of financial publications. As an amateur investor who is hoping to, one day, develop a portfolio that provides a reasonable passive income I have to stay abreast of the latest developments in economic and monetary policy. Every morning the Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times sit on my doorstep.

I snatch them up on my way out the door and when I'm in the mood, I'll snag a copy of the Economist to get a macro-level perspective. With that said, today I offered one of my coworkers my news paper since we have had discussions about taxation, corporate governance, and the role of government in society.

This is when he explains to me that he stopped reading newspapers/journals long ago because, get this, "the editorials were too liberal for me." Now bear in mind the WSJ and Economist are not "liberal" publications. If anything they tend to have a very pro-business, anti-social program, slant that comes out with a gusto that would make Adam Smith blush. But the absolute willingness of a fellow American citizen to completely shut their eyes/ears off to the actual goings on in the economic world around them, while simultaneously believing every pundit that mimics his world view, scares the living hell out of me.

It frightens me because, as of now, this kind of willful ignorance is not only normal but accepted. Now it's not "done" to debate policy on actual facts and math, but "gut feeling" and "idealism." And I don't just see this with conservatives but liberals as well.

People, pull your head out of the "entertainment programming" and step into the real world for a second. Shit is going to hell in a hand basket out here and we need the help.

Jubilee was a useless X-man. I said this when I first started watching the animated series as a kid and I stand by my proclamation now. Remember the big battle against the Juggernaut? 

Okay...let me rephrase that. Remember that ONE big battle against the Juggernaut and his squad? Jubilee was about to get 86'd by Juggie when she pulled her big move. 

"What big move is THAT Nikki?"

She threw fucking glitter in his face. For a few seconds he couldn't see, which I guess is good...if he was a Tyrannosaur. Rogue swoops in and delivers some powerful punches to that shiny metal head until he passes through a few walls.

Rogue is useful.

Jubilee? Useless.

This has been a public service announcement.

You're welcome.

So what exactly is chat for? I guess I'm having a hard time understanding and maybe it's because I'm just not going into the right rooms. Maybe it's me? Maybe my e-breath smells like e-garbage and e-onions? But there seems to be a lack of good conversation in these spaces set aside for...well...conversing.

I know, I know "Nikki, it's the internet." you say, your brow furrowed in mock concern over some young woman you've never met. But the internet doesn't absolve people of basic communication skills does it? It doesn't turn every dialogue into some quest for "lulz" with a dash of pussy thrown in for good measure.

And wouldn't all of us be a lot happier if we could just openly discuss video games, economics, foreign policy, good food, home brewed ales, what's on Netflix, or whatever without someone pointing out how "this is just bdsm chat and not real life?" Yeah dude, I understand it's the internet but still;

How can you tell who you're trying to fuck if you can't even tell who they ARE?

And BDSM is just a small part of that. Whether they thought the Arab Spring really achieved what the West THOUGHT it would is also a part of that person savvy?

No?

Okay, well I guess I'll go learn how to do Gorean chat serves or something.

I think I dialed the wrong phenotype because, here lately, I've been getting emails mentioning race play when it's definitely not listed in my profile as a kink of mine. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, get your freak on while and where you can, I just know that calling me a "n*gger" will probably get you punched the fuck out. 

Don't worry, I punch like a lady.

I think the interesting thing is the approach some of these lovely individuals have taken. From instantly throwing slurs my way to asking me if I'd like a taste of "cock" within a particular color spectrum. For the love of the gods, at least ASK me if I'm into it before hurling it at me like some kind of balled up wad of tissue with jizz in it. 

For all intents and purposes my distaste for race-play is based off of my knee jerk response. I mean, who knows what I could be into if given the opportunity to actually discuss it and what it means to the person interested before their telling me to move my "n*gger pussy" anywhere for anything. 

So go a little gentle guys. Some of us aren't hip to the trends or the lingo.

Breaking Bad...or Something

I already write like, one million blogs, so chances are this one is going to be just as neglected as the others. It seems like so many things seem to come full circle in my life. I began my journey into BDSM on this site, left, went to , left, exited the "scene" all together, and then came back, and now here I am on CollarMe all over again.

It's taken some time for me to really discover who I am and what I am looking for as a submissive and possible switch. So here I am now, fully aware, if not fully capable and I'm kind of fine with that. It's not a rush and considering the amazing people I've met in this lifestyle, there is no time limit to growing into one's skin.