Forget that I'm sick as hell. Forget that I'm swinging between highly productive and unable to walk straight. Forget that I'm so freaking behind on schoolwork that it terrifies me to contemplate catching up.
It really, really has been an amazing weekend.
For over a week, I've been battling severe acute asthma-complicated bronchitis. (Say that 10 times fast!) The last thing I did before lapsing into an illness induced haze was following through on my appointment to donate my hip-length hair to Locks of Love. Then I traipsed over to my doctor's office to find out why I was exhausted and coughing my lungs out.
I wasn't exactly clueless when I walked in. I've had bronchitis enough times to know the symptoms by heart. The difference this time was the exhaustion. Usually, when my bronchitis drops into my lungs, the head cold that started it gets better, and I feel better. For me, getting bronchitis means not feeling so shitty as the past few days. Hence my confusion at sleeping 15 hours a day.
I'm still waiting on the results of the mono test. My best friend has mono, and I was exposed. (we don't share food or beverages or kisses, but we're both "huggy" people) Hopefully I'll know by Monday morning.
So I spent the week barely able to make it to class, sleeping like the dead, watching the Olympics, and getting incredibly behind on reviews and homework. (sorry everyone!)
Fast forward to Friday. I decided, after planning to go to Wicked Faire for a year, that I'd be damned if I let a little thing like bronchitis stand in my way.
Medically, I told the world to kiss my ass. My only concession to illness was to swap out the stilleto boots I usually wear with my kilt for flats. Wobbling around and falling on people may be sexy when you're flaunting teh boobage, but it's hard on the back. And some people just aren't coordinated enough to catch you.
I had a blast. It was absolutely amazing. I met a lot of cool people, saw some great performers do their thing, got the most ADORABLE tiny top hat, and met more awesome people. I got to meet the lovely Vera, the Dildo Bag Queen of ForYourNymphomation, and even ran into a few blogger friends.
And, squee of squees, I got to buy some nice, handmade gear: a pair of luscious bullhide cuffs in red and black (I made the boy wear them for the rest of the faire), and a flogger so soft and buttery I just want to rub my face in it. I am in fact petting it as I type. It's made of something called "deer processed suede", which the man said was cowhide cut and processed to act like deerhide. From comparing it to my beloved deer gloves, I must say that it's a really damn good processing. It's very thuddy, which the boy adores, with just the tiniest hint of sting if you get your wrist going right. I'm not a huge fan of the balance, but I've noticed that I'm really picky about that for many things.
This is not one he gets to wield until he works on his aim, though. I sent him home with the Fluffy Flogger to practice on a pillow for a week or two before I let him touch this one. I'm sick and tired of getting fucking wrapped.
I also realized partway through that I should have duct taped my mouth shut most of the time. I made a complete and utter fool of myself at least once while talking to people I met, because I'd never been to a faire before and know not the slightest bit about sourcing of metal. I wasn't trying to pretend that I knew anything, but in trying to back out of conversations by saying I knew nothing, I somehow put my foot in my mouth. Very embarrassing.
Random aside: wearing a kilt does not automatically make a costume a "naughty schoolgirl costume." And saying that you love how popular the naughty schoolgirl look is this year in a very bad British accent is just going to piss people off. Especially if said kilt is part of a person's cherished culture and heritage. They'll probably hit you with their sporran, and rightly so.
Anyway, dragging myself back on topic... it was an epic day. And then I came back to my dorm room and all but crashed. We decided that we just HAD to try out the flogger a little bit before going to sleep. It... got a little hotter than we indended. Hearing him ask me to hit him harder? Hearing the hiss of breath when it hit? Seeing the lovely red marks rising in his skin? Got me a little hot and bothered. And, of course, I just HAD to try on those cuffs. Which happen to be the most comfortable things ever.
Can you blame me for ditching the whole recovery thing and having hot, crazy, fast, hard sex right then and there?
It'd been way too long since we'd had a good, hard fuck. Way, way too long. It was wonderful, it was invigorating, it was delightful, and it was exhausting. I all but passed out on him after we finished. It was only the next morning that I noticed that I hadn't cleaned the toys, and I never forget to clean the toys.
Bad Lily. Bad, bad, BAD Lily.
And since then, I've been back to being hideously sick. Seriously, I think I got through Wicked Faire on adrenaline and mascara. (don't get me gushing on that one, no makeup babbling for Lily) As of this morning, I'm exhausted, dizzy, sometimes disoriented, coughing, tired, and just all around sick. I'm starting to suspect that I pushed myself too hard and relapsed back into the depths of whatever the fuck messed my body up this time. Aside from the bronchitis. Because by now, having bronchitis is almost normal.
Was it worth it? Hell yes. Hells FUCKING yes. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
Just... with more cash for the buying of epic stuff. Because I'm jealous of my boyfriend's steampunk goggles. And considering stealing them so I can mod them and give them back in an epic way. Because I'm artsy fartsy like that.
Oh goodness, I've rambled quite a bit. This is what happens when you let me loose at an empty blog post when I'm in a state like this. After pummeling my brain all day long trying to write reviews, my brain just spews random stuff all over the screen.