Teapot

Sticky. Hot. Textured and long and rather large in my hands. The spurts got simply everywhere. Let's not even discuss the screaming.

::sigh::

I hate verr. More specifically, milking them. See above. No, seriously, I loathe it with an unholy passion and having been rented to a small farm for the past hand has only solidifed that simple nugget of truth in my universe. Give me an animal to stalk and kill, to field dress or harvest and I am fine. Ask me to grasp the foul teat of a bleating beast and squeeze and twist until it shoots milk out is....disgusting.

Oh stop snickering. Irony, yes yes, we all see that.

::huffs::

On the up side? A hand of toiling amid the animals and rotting about in the dirt for roots and herbs has reminded me that perspective is a slippery bitch. I am no less disgusted by the way things were handled, but I am reminded that there are fates far worse than being property of the City of Ar. Such as being the property of some kings be damned farmer with a sick thing for watching me milk verr.

I lived. I survived it. I will doubtless continue to survive for quite some time. The ahn upon ahn of labor in the fields and pens did give me time to think however and I am not convinced that simply surviving is enough for me. It is not enough to wander through my days and nights and see the world through a haze of anger and apathy bound together in the demonic waltz that has had me caught up of late.

No.

I will lay no claim to knowing what it is or may be that will trigger the sense of serenity I crave, but I do know it is possible. For several years I knew it, quite ironically under the steel of a man with a distinct talent for the written word as well as dealing with women as women. He never once professed to love me or find me amazing or seek to clothe me in jewels or gold. No, he whored my ass out in the city's seediest district and kept me bringing in the coin for years on a diet of gruel and the occasional lick of grease from his fingers.

Bastard.

Kings. If I knew where he was I might well crawl to his sandals and beg to serve him. No. No might about it.

The bath was long overdue and it felt wonderful, cold water and plain soap not withstanding. The ahn is late and I have missed my walks to the park. Hopefully I can find Skirt or Mads, we have a ton to catch up on.