Ancilla's Dirty Diary: "I can be perfect for you."

13 October 2021

There is something I have been trying to explain to him for a few weeks, and I worry that each time I try, I fall short of being able to articulate it the way I feel it in my heart. Perhaps part of the problem is that I can barely explain it to myself, sometimes too much nuance, and too much context, challenge clarity as much as too little of those things. 

The truth is that perfection is not an expectation we are taught to place on anybody, we are taught that it is unreasonable to demand it and impossible to be it, but it would appear as if perfection is a demand I must now fulfill in my relationship. I am not complaining, perhaps the language seems like I may be but I am merely being clear (and perhaps influenced in manner by the fact that I was just reading a bill that may soon become law, and legalese does that to language sometimes, it forces you to cut to the heart of the manner with a knife that is longer than ideal, and sharper than necessary). I find his demand for perfection both interesting and alarmingly reasonable. 

Of course, perfection in itself cannot be defined without standards and practices, and those vary based on different situations, and it often astounds me that we reject perfection despite knowing that we could, should we choose to, make it mean almost anything we want. Perhaps it is because inherently we know something, we know that everything cannot be whatever we want it to be, because words have meaning, and it cannot be extended to include everything or we wouldn't know how to speak to each other and communicate anything meaningful. To me the specificity of the meaning of the word perfect implies infallibility. I am perfect, when I do not fail. That's the idea of perfection, and it sounds great to me, but in that form, in the form of an idea (that I cannot even visualise into enough of a structure to be able to see inside my head), perfection also doesn't mean anything. What do I not fail at? What does that extend to? What do I actually physically do to not fail? Is there a list of things I could refer to that would make me perfect in his eyes? 

The best I can say is that I can tell when I am being it, and I can tell how far it extends. It doesn't extend to spheres of my life that are non-negotiable, because we must have boundaries, and mine is work. If I cannot be a perfect slave, because I am being a perfect worker, I have to insist that is reasonable, and I cannot have it disrespected, but I can to a reasonable degree accept it is my responsibility to schedule my life well (and that's more a responsibility I feel to myself). If I am unable to be perfect, because I am sick, that's also reasonable. Honestly, that's his rule more than mine because I find sticking to my routine helps me recover from illness (and he says I get nothing done and act out of bravado that ultimately destroys me and prolongs my illness, and he is actually right in this case, I always get better faster when I do it his way), but I think my way only deals with the mindset of being ill, I hate it so much, I spend all my energy making myself believe I am not sick as opposed to just making the choices that will lead to me not being sick. It's quite stupid, yet I do it every time. I will stop though, I will, I know it. 

Besides those limitations this perfection he expects extends to everything. It's as simple as posture, and as ridiculous as the syntax of a sentence I said. Actually they're both ridiculous, aren't they? The best way to explain it, actually, is that I take his shoes off at the end of the day every day, and if I am not in the room when that is supposed to happen, that's my fault, no matter what I was doing (short of the aforementioned exceptions or dealing with an emergency or out of town, but sometimes we mutually agree to me being out of town as my fault) or what time it was. That's the perfection he is expecting, that I be in a room, at a time that is not exact, to perform a duty I must perform, without being told or reminded, without knowing what or if there will be consequences for not doing it, and still when I am in there to wait till I am told that I can do it. That's the best I can explain it. It's not a set of rules, and breaking one is not the determination of fault, it's a set of expectations, and it's really up to me to find the rule, and even so, I don't know which ones are definitely ones I should not break. 

This is the part that is hard to explain actually. He rarely tells me: Do this! But he tells me often that I didn't do that. It's almost never something he directly told me to do, but it's usually stuff around which there is sufficient insinuation. Or it's things that he told me to do once and silently expected that I would do always (but it is not all things he told me to do once, just some of them, and there is really no clarity). I would be excellent if I did everything he said, but I am perfect when I do the things he doesn't say and sometimes even think.  Excellence is never forgetting to polish his Friday shoes. Perfection is doing it even though he has Friday off, and then doing it again the following Thursday. I know which one he wants, and I don't know exactly how I came to see it so clearly, because not only does he not articulate his what he wants, he doesn't always articulate whether he appreciated something or not. I mostly find out that he liked me doing something when I don't do it, and he (vocally) doesn't appreciate that. 

It's not the ideal form of being "dominant". No, it's not. It's even more strange because we are such vocal proponents of communication, but the way I see it, that is the reason this style is even possible is because of the incessant communication. Only when you know everything can you say nothing. Only then can you trust that you need to say nothing, and saying nothing is enough of an indication to someone else to do what you want anyway. To me, that can approach ideal, when explained like that. It's more interesting too. It makes little sense, but rules don't challenge me, expectations do. Rules are a sport (and I hate all sports), but expectations are an open playing field (and I love those). Breaking rules has consequences, I don't buy that entirely. Not living up to expectations hurts, I am here for that. Rules assume you must be managed to function well. Expectations put the responsibility on you to manage your behaviour. Following rules makes you good or perhaps even excellent, but living up to expectations makes you perfect. I'd rather be perfect. 

One might ask, and one of sound mind probably should, why anyone would take it upon themselves to take not just life, but also sex, this seriously. I used to ask that. It's as if I am determined, and may have come close to actually achieving, the most boring-sounding sex life in the world. It's like the textbook of fetishism, not its pornography. The thing is though, I tire of things that are unspectacular. I am not playing for comfortable, I am not playing for peaceful, I am not playing for happiness even, I am playing for exceptional. Achievement is one the greatest gratifications life has to offer, and bringing that to sex is like making Nutella more Nutella-ey. It shouldn't even be possible but just try putting some liquid Nutella on a frozen block of it and you'll understand my allure here. Perfection is achievement. I don't like to pursue anything to a comfortable level, it has to be so decadent that it's obscene. So detailed and elaborate that it's pornographic in its evidence of obsession. That's who I am. That's how I am with everything. I may appear to take things up casually, but I keep them very seriously. I have messy hair (because I don't understand the point of combing them) but the structure I keep, and enjoying keeping, in life, is anything but messy. I like my sex to have the same level of structure, it's gratifying like little else in the world. Ultimately, it's perfectly alright to disagree that the fetishistic concept of human slavery be taken this way, and I can see the reason in that. I can do it despite seeing the reason in that because I see something else as well, I see extraordinary human experience, and that is what I am here for. It's not necessary human experience, far from it, but I like it. It keeps me engaged, and interested, and I will do it at least as long as that keeps being true. 

So for now, I engage deeply with this demand for perfection. I let it run rampant through my existence and dig up all the things with which it might want to play. However there is more to this perfection than what I mentioned earlier. After all I am not trying to be a perfect human being, it's much more specific, I am trying to be a perfect slave, but the standards of one specific person. There's a lot more here. For one thing, it seems that intention matters a lot to me, and him, in the pursuit of perfection. Forgetting to shave my legs (I use his razor, because I'm a feminist) is a human failing, memory, and that's not acceptable to him, but it's much more unacceptable for me to have remembered, and not done it. I see the reason in that perfectly. I see it in the moment when I make the decision not to do something, and even though he doesn't know, and wouldn't always find out, I also know that I will have to admit it. 

I could always explain it, but that's actually the other thing, and perhaps this is the thing that made me realise I was in deeper than I intended to be. One day I couldn't make excuses anymore. I couldn't explain myself anymore. Even when the explanation was completely reasonable, and if judged fairly (which he does do sometimes) would exonerate me perfectly, I just couldn't do it anymore. There was no longer a need for me to have the discussion that demonstrates that I am wrong or lacking; there was no longer a need for my reasons for failing to be assessed whatsoever. I didn't feel the need to be heard in that context anymore, it didn't matter, but it wasn't just him telling me that anymore, I felt it enough to not say it. That's insane for me. I say everything. Look at how much I've said about this admittedly niche area of interest already! One day I had the thought that I believed would justify my failure, and instead of saying it, I said nothing. Well, I apologised, and he what he had to do, but I said nothing to clear my name. It didn't matter because the milk was already spilt, and I was going to cry about it, with or without the sob story. 

I don't know when perfection came into the picture, but I like to think it was shortly after that, because anything can seem reasonable after accepting that you aren't innocent until proven guilty. You just don't get a trial. The action is the trial. If you don't complete it, there's nothing left to talk about. I keep trying to explain to him that I feel all of it in my bones, and it surprises me that it impacts me at all. I am always surprised when things actually impact me, and make me genuinely feel, as opposed to conceptualizing a feeling. I'm not used to it, and I don't know when it may happen, or with what. I keep trying to explain to him that every word, every little movement of his finger and every breath he takes impacts me, and I don't know how to tell him that. Despite all of this, I cannot find the words. Maybe they don't matter. Maybe I have to just trust that he knows and understands what I mean, like I do, when nothing is said at all.