Six Months

It’s been over six months since my last post. I haven’t had much to say.

Or too much to stay, and unable to write down what I feel.

December happened. And it blurred. Working long hours for the delivery company. Working just as long for Black Ort and the Whip and the Gorean University.

Then January rolled around.

I was sitting at my computer, trying to get Black Ort on voice like I had been since late November and he wasn’t answering me. This is January 5th and the Ort Cloud has started and I’m about to hand off to him.

Except he isn’t answering me.

So I keep on playing into and past 7pm, voicing over the radio “due to technical difficulties, Black Ort will be late.”

Then…

He says one word to me.

“Namah.”

His real life partner’s name.

That was the moment when his life turned upside down. For three months, he sat beside her bedside at the hospital while she fought one infection after another. Then kidney failure. Then other stuff that I don’t understand and can’t comprehend, but it was destroying her.

She was a fighter. She fought the pain. She fought the tubes. She fought the disgusting hospital food they tried to feed her.

Middle of March, I was possibly exposed to someone who had covid, and had to stop working, so I spent all my days working on SL and more. I had spotted a problem, and even though his wife was in the hospital, and three days out of 7 he was sleeping there to be with her, he was advocating for me for the Whip, protecting me from backlashes.

I had found tik tok and after two weeks had to stop watching all the news reports about covid. I couldn’t do it anymore. My anxiety level was hitting such huge highs, I could not function.

I freaked out. I couldn’t go outside for grocery shopping cause I was having anxiety attacks. I still have them about going out. I started sewing cloth masks and even sent one to him because I had to protect him. Yah, my mind went a little weird for a while. I even told my son to not visit because of Covid-19. After all, his father has heart issues, his uncles have it, he might have it…

I didn’t want that guilt…

After a month, the kids started to have visits again. I’m not for it, but I can’t stop them, and their father is aware of the risks. I’ve seen my son twice. I’d rather see him occasionally than force the issue.

Meanwhile, the hospital Namah was in got locked down. And she was having issues and more issues. Black Ort told me about all the things he could and my heart hurts for the man. He had been locked out for over a month by then and couldn’t even bring her home cooking anymore. She was loosing her mind because the toxins in her blood weren’t being cleaned and they were affecting her head. She was loosing her mind because she had a systemic infection that was trying to kill her and he couldn’t be there for her!

Was killing her…

While I was trying to be Black Ort’s support, his wife… his life partner… the second woman in real life Black Ort loved enough to share a life with, died. The medical staff enacted her DNR when it was discovered that she had also contracted Covid-19, and within 12 hrs, she was gone.

Namah Rivers died with only the palliative care staff of the hospital there with her. She died alone, without her beloved Black Ort at her side. Like so many others dying of Covid-19, she died alone.

I knew within minutes. Within four hours, I was on the Whip doing a dedication to her and had about 5 people show up at the circle to be a part of the circle of love for Black Ort and his wife Namah Rivers. I spent most of the rest of the week on SL at the memorial I made for her while the slaves of the GU, particularly Najah, got condolences. We passed everything on to him.

I was completely devastated. I had promised him that as soon as he called for me, I would head to him. I would be there within 72 hrs. I would be at his side. Except the borders are closed. Stupid virus.

Saturday, Black Ort graced both Ashlee (formerly his Gorean love slave Zari) and I with Zoom links for Namah’s funeral. We didn’t deserve it, but I think he needed someone there for him. We both watched and talked about it the next day. She told me: “Please don’t sell yourself (short). You have been very good for him, and he enjoys so very much having you. I don’t think I could have ever left him alone, but knowing that he had you and that he loved you made it easier for me.”

Ashley had left Gor for her own reasons months ago. I ended up filling her giant shoes with my tiny toddler ones when she had left.

I was sobbing during the funeral. I hate funerals. I’d rather never go to one. I don’t want a funeral. I want a party. I want knitters there. I want spinners there. I want kids with finger paints. I don’t want a funeral.

Sunday, I set up. I had spent days getting everything ready. I edited down one of his previous broadcasts to just the round table and his music. I got a copy of the Gor book he was reading to read on. I set up music. I had my set from Tuesday ready for rebroadcast.

Black Ort never came on, but people still came to the circle. I had the slaves dress more modestly, how I believe they should be dressed for the funeral of a Free Woman. Savina had the dancers dancing. Najah had the dancers moving around.

“If he is my uncle,” I said, because Black Ort calls me his niece and I call him my uncle, “then she was my auntie.” Those last two words were sobbed, and I still sob whenever I say or write them. She was a giant of a woman, in heart and spirit, in order to be his wife. I don’t think Black Ort could have had anything less for a wife.

My music played. His rebroadcast played. I had cut it perfectly. I read from his Gor novel to the end of the chapter and so he can start from the next one. A fresh page, so to speak.

I played more music, and I was planning on reading more from Quarry of Gor, but I couldn’t. My throat was harsh from crying too much. Instead, I replayed my Tuesday’s show, and spent the evening sobbing.

Namah Rivers… you are loved by so many for simply loving a man we care so much about.

As for the Whip, I have a job there now that actually means something. I had noticed that the djs would flock to a new sim, overrun it, and drown it, then no one would play. I started keeping tabs with Black Ort’s permission at the end of January, and for the first staff meeting in ages, presented it to the managers and other staff. Not only did I show how much each DJ was doing, but also which sims were being visited, and which were being ignored. We have several “Gold Level” sims that had not had any visitors in ages.

Since starting to keep track, the DJs move around a bit more.

I also sponsored Mieville’s Steam Expo’s Whip commercial, and reconnecting with Wyvvy has been awesome. Mieville’s mayor, Perryn, had disappeared because of medical reasons back in December, and the Gorean University (me but backed by Black Ort), had offered our third sim for refugees if it was needed. The sim is empty so why not use it?

In the last month, several people have come back not just to SL, but to the GU in particular, and we now have both an Aura garden and a G&S farm, we have a second slaver, Xander the larl might end up being the house larl, but what is most amusing? This:

Black Ort loves that stone chair of his. I have made repeated jokes about find the sword on the stone because of it.

Anyway, back in March, I noticed one of the DJs was specifically out to earn money DJing and would spend hours and hours on the radio when others would want to play, but because there was no one scheduled, he could keep on playing. There were times I wanted to play and he was there. So I gave up trying. Then, one day in particular, he got yelled at for being on the air at least 6 hours straight, colliding with one of the senior DJs, one of those who had been there since before I was there. He was told not to do that again. He was also hustled out of the Gorean University grounds because, although we do pay our DJs when they show, we don’t have the money to support a fourth sim, and if we did, it would be a Gorean University sim, not someone else’s.

He quit, blamed it on me to anyone that would listen, but said that it was management taking offense at where he was.

The next staff meeting was interesting.

I gave out stats. I highlighted how many times that one DJ was on Gorean University lands. Sixteen – 16! – times in just over a month, which, even though the Gorean University is a Gold Level sponsor of the Whip, more really because I sponsor one of the merchants that has a stall at the Gorean University, he used up a month and a half of sets that the Gorean University could have held.

He had affected and could have possibly cancelled Black Ort’s Master’s Round Table, all because the DJ was greedy for money. “I need the lindens to pay for my sim!” If you need to pay for your sim with lindens, then you shouldn’t have a sim! Unless you have something that people really want, you won’t be able to keep your sim going if you are DJing. I looked into it a couple of years ago and would have been forking out hundreds of dollars a month with the sim rental and the staff pay and more.

We were told not to worry about how many sets that DJ had. So we haven’t. The Gorean University is our home sim and Black Ort and I can and do DJ there. If anything, unless it’s a special event, if I am DJing on the Whip and he’s one, he expects me at the Gorean University.

I’m still keeping track of where DJs have gone. It doesn’t matter where they go, but it does matter that our Gold Sponsors get hits every month. It’s what they are paying for.

At least now I’m not the bad guy. Advertising still isn’t posting an up to date list of subscribers. Black Ort and I have been discussing a potential commercial for the Gorean University, RP sessions, classes and more. We had at least one official class so far, and with at least 7 slaves running around the grounds, and a big black castle cat of a larl, it’s going to be interesting.

Meanwhile, I think I need to look for a job that doesn’t put me in harm’s way driving anymore. There were at least 4 occasions before I had to stop work when I could have been exposed. The job was also taking too much out of me.

Wish me luck!