I am sad and annoyed. Betty White died. She was so close to her 100th birthday, and she was gone. It’s just the sort of thing you’d expect from 2021. Not that 2020 was any better. My mother died at 95. One of my aunts lived to be 100 and, the rate the surviving sisters were going, I expected them to make it to 100. I don’t know what it is about making it to 100 that intrigues me. I guess I figure, if you’ve made it close to that age, you deserve to make it. I told my mother I was looking forward to her making 100. If anyone deserved it, she did. She fought through some pretty horrible illnesses and injuries. One of the last times I spoke to her, she said she didn’t care about being 100. She was done. She’d lived a long life. The next time she got sick, she said she’d give up. And that’s just what she did. I was proud of her for going out on her terms. Maybe it would be different if she was closer to 100 like Batty White. I might have been sad and annoyed then instead of sad and proud.
Okay. Enough doom and gloom. Lion is looking for a recipe for a pot roast. I am trying to wrap up what I can of this year at work. I set myself a goal yesterday, and I honestly thought I’d be skidding in under the wire, but I managed to complete that goal, and I’ve moved on to other things. I’m still behind where I’d like to be, but I’m doing better than I thought I would. In a few hours, I’ll bring out the spanking bench, and Lion will get a “just because” spanking. He hasn’t done anything to earn one in a while, so we’ll have to make due. I doubt he’s happy about it, but he doesn’t need to be.
[Lion — I am not happy about it!]
Later on, maybe after dinner, he’ll get his last orgasm of the year. When he gets his first orgasm of the new year depends on him. I can only do so much. He has to be at least partly horny. I assume it won’t be too far in. By the tenth, I hope. I’m not committing to a certain number of orgasms per month in the coming year. I don’t schedule them anymore. We just play it by ear, which seems to work just fine.