By kessia{Sage}

Greetings Masters,
Greetings Mistresses,
greetings slaves,

You can't keep trouble from coming, but you don't have to give it a chair to sit on.
Vermont Proverb

She would have thought that being online as long as she has, she would be able to watch one of those often seen “train wreck” scenarios unfold without getting invested or involved. Well, no. Once again, blindsided by temper, she saw the train wreck coming, and rather than jump out of the way, she jumped in front of the thing. Never mind that she knows better. Never mind that she knew it was not her place to say a thing about anything. Oh no. All of a sudden she was hopping mad and typing just as fast as her fingers could fly. Faster than the speed of thought.

She turned to see her Master alternating between gaping at her and laughing, amazed that she was so suddenly enmeshed in what someone calls herself and why. Hands shaking, mad as a wet hen, she struggled to explain. She murmured on and on about people making mockeries of definitions, mockeries of lifestyles as He stared blankly. Finally, thankfully, she ran out of words, winding down like an old Victrola. He looked her up and down, and said:
It does not much matter what people do as long as it is not called something it is not. Remember? Do what you like, just don't call it Gor?

Yes, she remembered.

Is any of this actually your business or problem? If I go into my kitchen, am I going to see a crowd in there, waiting for you to manage them?
No, Master.

In the midst of her embarrassment and shame, the answer to her anger came to her, and it had precious little to do with the actual trains involved in this wreck. Ego. Hubris. Pride. Pick one.

She got so seduced into the online “thing” that she tripped and fell splat on her face, momentarily dropping the focus she had struggled to attain. She allowed her mind to wander to others, virtual strangers, instead of keeping her mind on the service Master allows her to offer to him. Eyes aimed the wrong way made it easy to get lost in being offended at the idea of sharing the same name as one of the locomotives. Eyes aimed the wrong way made it easy to develop an instant attachment to the idea of what is right, true and proper within the Great Gorean Way (tm). Eyes aimed the wrong way made it ridiculously easy to fail to consider that she was leaping and bounding to the dead center of the track, facilitating this very embarrassing train wreck of a situation. Eyes aimed the wrong way made it easy engage in it, attempting to enlighten a train that was happily careening in its own fashion, and become just exactly what she is not permitted to be: Another out of control locomotive.

Silly kessia, she says to herself, while staring at the large feet planted in front of her, why care about someone else's cheerfully hurtling train? Why care what the train calls itself? There is no stopping a train that does not want to be stopped, or mending track when the thing will not even slow down. No committee appointed kessia Stopper of the Hurtling Train or Protector of the Train Tracks. All the ego in the world, all the temper in the world does not change those simple facts, leaving kessia with only a couple of things to do: Get the hell off the damned track, and admit that she blew it. Royally.

~steps to the side, away from the cool metal track and safely on to the grassy embankment, eyes aimed exactly where they are supposed to be~

She blew it. Royally.

She wishes the Masters well,
She wishes the Mistresses well,
She wishes the slaves well,

kessia{Sage}

Comments, questions, topic suggestions are always welcome ...please email a girl at kessia_s@yahoo.com