Can't say baby where I'll be in a year

Yesterday I had another appointment with the therapist person. I'm pretty sure I like her. I'm almost positive I do. Unlike Brian, who is of the opinion psychology/psychiatry/whatever is for the most part crap, (that's not all his fault; he gets it from his mother) I think it's something that can be extremely beneficial, depending on the individual, his/her situation and the doctor. There's no denying a certain amount of bullshit is involved, but I feel that way about most professions so it's not a biggie to me.

However.

Yesterday's topic was obviously the third failed IUI. I told her my period arrived last Sunday right before Brian was leaving to go out of town but that I wasn't surprised about it like I'd been the previous two times. So besides sleeping most of that day and being a little down this week, I think I'm doing pretty okay. Note: doc wasn't even tryin' to hear that. She looked at me. An uncomfortable length of eye contact time ensued. Then:

Her: So. You're doing okay?
Me: Yeah, I really think so.
Her: So you've cried over it and in a matter of four days have moved on?
Me: Well no, but...
Her: Oh. So you haven't even CRIED yet?
Me: Uh...no?

And it was at that point I believe she made it her mission in life to make me cry. I'm not saying she told me I look fat and my roots are showing. She just seemed very goal orientated. As in her To Do list looked like this: (1) make patients cry (2) make them stop crying (3) go home satisfied I've done my part to make the world a better place. The worst part - her evil plan worked. I kind of laughed as I reached for the tissue box that just happened to be sitting on the small table next to me; it's not often you recognize the moment you become a human cliche.

Her opinion is that I'm practicing the art of avoidance. Okay, fair enough. I'm burying my feelings, not dealing with it, etc. Which, okay - I can see that. And I understand that's not good. But then she told me I need to FEEL my feelings before I can move on. So I said, "Okay, so how do I do that?" she didn't have an answer for me. Her recommendations included write in my journal (check), continue to exercise (I haven't every day, but I've gotten much more consistent) and either talk about it with people or don't, depending on how I feel. Um...okay. That wasn't what I'd call a huge revelation, lady. Your gentle suggestions for me to do things I'm already doing makes me a little cranky. But then again anyone who ends a therapy session by poorly singing Aerosmith ("Sweeeeet Emooootion...") is A-okay in my book.

Weekend! Starts in 4.5 hours!

Happy bloody Memorial Day

Right as Brian was running around yesterday getting ready to leave, I went to the bathroom and saw that my period was in the process of arriving. The scary part was the almost absolute emotionless reaction I had. Considering I didn't once for a minute believe I was pregnant this time, I guess it's not too surprising. I could tell he felt bad but I didn't want to make a big scene right before he left to drive two hours to see family, so I didn't. After he left though, and it started raining and I went to the bathroom again just to confirm what was true, I thought, Wow, I wonder if this day could this day suck any more? No, I don't think it could. Then I accidentally rammed my toe into the cabinet under the bathroom sink and thought, Ahh, yes.

I half-assed started cleaning up, but my heart wasn't in it anymore. Which now that I think about it, I actually was reacting to getting my fucking period; I just wasn't really allowing myself to acknowledge it too much. But when I woke up from a three hour nap, I was ready for the pity party to be done with. Each of the last two times this has happened, all I wanted was to be left alone for the day and hey, here I was. I spent the rest of the day doing laundry, reading, making potato salad in honor of it being a cook-out holiday and renting a non-Brian movie off of PPV, Rachel Getting Married, which was good and worth the $3.99.

Today I'm one of a small skeleton crew here at work, which is a good mix of being out of the house and also somewhat left alone. It hasn't been the kickoff to Summer celebration weekend for me that it is for most people, but this has never been a significant holiday for me anyway, so it's fine. I'm thankful to all our vets, but I live with a man who watches the History Channel a lot and get plenty of opportunities to be thankful and cry for them.

The highlight so far has been my cousin Scott emailing to let me know there's a Land of the Lost marathon on the SciFi channel today and he's ecstatically introducing his older daughter to what used to be our favorite show when we were her age. I'm looking forward to watching a couple of episodes when I get home and I'm damn sure going to see the movie when it comes out, even though I know it'll be nothing like the show. Scott and I used to "play" Land of the Lost and the most fun part was always going over the waterfall. Now it's being described as a "cult classic," so I doubt anyone knows what the hell I'm even talking about so I'll stop.

I'm looking forward to Brian coming home this afternoon. I did fine without him, what with avoiding getting murdered in the shower while home alone and all, but yeah, life is much more fun with him around. I don't know what's next on the baby agenda, but I'm finding it difficult to care right now. Life goes on and it's still better than the alternative.

Whoa, can you FEEL the ennui?

I'm fine. Really.

Round and round

So I've shared with one of the social workers here about the recent details of my life, Re: fun with fertility. I mean, what better way to get some free therapy, right? Actually we'd been discussing something else and then out of the blue she asked if everything was okay with me, which took me aback. Here I've been so proud of how well I've held my shit together and faked it til I maked it in front of co-workers, not revealing anything about the hormonal roller coaster I've been riding without interruption for six months. UP and down, UP and down, and I'm tired and dizzy and feel like I could spray vom down the front of my shirt at any moment.

She said, "I don't mean to pry, but it seems like you have a lot on your mind lately and I just wanted to make sure everything is okay at home." Which is technically prying, but okay. I've been feeling beat down with this thing and when she said that, I took it as my cue to turn into a snotting, sob-heaving mess right there in her office for a little while. Later, like the next time I'm having trouble sleeping, I'll probably rehash it all in my mind how I shouldn't have gotten so personal and be regretful and embarrassed about coming unglued in front of her and all that but right now I feel sort of relieved.

Well, except for one thing she said. Which was: "Kim, if you want to be a mother, you will be, somehow. We may not know exactly how yet, but you will do this. And you'll be a great one. That's what I can tell you." And gave me a hug, which I repaid by leaving a large snot stain on her shirt.

But I didn't pursue that line of talk, which I took to mean what several other people have suggested as well - adoption. That is something that he and I have discussed only in the abstract and never very enthusiastically. I'm not saying I'm against it; in fact ever since the last IUI, I've been thinking maybe I need to start talking to some of the adoption people who I conveniently work with every day and at least try to find out some answers to all the scary, overwhelming questions I have about even how to start the process.

That's when most people get pregnant, right - when the adoption ball has started rolling? Yeah, another platitude I've heard many, MANY times over the years. It doesn't help. I know people mean well when they say it, but when all your energy is going to keep thoughts like, I WILL NEVER GET PREGNANT, I WILL NEVER BE A MOTHER, I DON'T DESERVE IT ANYWAY at bay, trust me - it doesn't help.

I made Brian promise me after we started this that I would become a mother. He may have just been trying to get me to stop standing in the doorway of the computer room being psycho so he could go back to his poker game, but no; he has been a super trooper through this shit and he does keep his promises to me, so...there's that. But if that does have to mean adoption, that brings a whole new and different slew of issues. Like how important his ancestry is to him. How he laughs fondly over how much his nephew looks exactly like his brother. How that male proclivity to reproduce to keep the family bloodline going seems so fucking embedded in him. Not that I'm just accusing him of those feelings; obviously part of my desire to become a mother is of course to have my husband's child; made up of him and me, old school style. I'd say that's pretty obvious, but I still felt the need to clarify, just in case there were any doubts.

I feel like to even talk about it with him is the first step in depriving him of something really important. And at this point he'd just say I'm jumping the gun, that this process hasn't failed yet so why am I already giving up. I can clearly hear him say it. But this is how my mind works and I know myself too. When I find out next week that this has failed again, (I'm allowed to test Monday, but I'm QUITE SURE I'll start bleeding sometime around then, just like fucking clockwork, just like every other fucking month)I need to know how to proceed and quickly move onto the next plan. Because I'm afraid of where my mind might go otherwise.

Lifestyles of the poor and poopy

As a general rule if my personal life is in the shitter, work is usually smooth sailing and vice versa. I figure it falls under that old myth about God not giving you any more than He thinks you can handle type thing. Which out of all the stuff out there advertised, I tend to buy into since I can site many examples of this being the case with my life.

God, or Whomever must not have gotten the memo this week.

Remember that whole thing about me getting my period Sunday? Yeah, that hasn't changed. And what a positive attitude I had last week after attending that inspirational conference - I mean, I felt absolutely ecstatic about coming back to work this week and applying all the neat new positive stuff I'd learned. Which was squashed during the first half of Monday when the shit pile kept getting bigger and bigger and for every one thing I crossed off my to-do list, three more EMERGENCIES got added.

I mean, it's only Tuesday and I feel like I've spent an entire week at work already. That's never good. It hit me at some point today there's no way I'll be able to enjoy my usual Friday off this week; now I'm just hoping I won't have to be in the office all day.

This morning, as I raced into town to make my ultrasound appointment, I got this sick feeling I'd forgotten the checkbook and a quick search through my purse confirmed this. At the same time I was simultaneously envisioning my debit card lying on the computer desk where I'd left it after paying a bill online. Who shows up to a doctor's appointment without means to pay? Me. But in I went anyway, thinking Screw it. Because being the expert I now am at fertility and all its wonders, I knew there was no choice but to have the ultrasound done this morning - certain things must happen at certain times - and if they refused me, it would throw off this entire cycle - a whole month wasted. They'd either take my word that I'm good for it and that I'd pay later or take the blame for messing up my chances to get pregnant. For the third time in a row.

Sometimes it pays not to give a shit. Besides having the longest ultrasound in history (I can now honestly say I've had an object inserted in one orafice for twenty-eight consecutive minutes), the payment thing wasn't an issue. They know me well by now, which is either good or bad, depending on how you look at it. The nurse even stopped herself after she'd begun to give me the injection lesson, saying "What am I saying -y'all are pro's at this by now." Yes. Yes we are.

I got home this afternoon just absolutely wiped out, when something occured to me and I panicked. The electic bill. When was the last time I paid it? Who knew. I told Brian I had a weird feeling it might be due soon and he said there was an unopened bill on the table. I opened it and read the big bold letters: "Service will be disconnected if not paid by 4/28/2009 at 5:00 p.m. It was 4:53. Considering I'm now using the computer to write this, you can probably presume I made the payment on time. Because after reading about everybody's adventures with air conditioning over the last week or so, no offense, but I wasn't interested in joining the ranks of the hot and sweaty. Not this week.

So I guess even though work is a big fart bubble right now and I'm once again smack in the middle of prepping my eggs for insemination (that will be on Sunday or Monday, depending on how the follicles decide to grow this time) it could be worse. If I've learned anything in this life, it can ALWAYS be worse.

Happy Deadliest Catch Night - when life is an asshole, TV never lets me down.

Like James Brown I too feel good

I'm all bubbly and cheerful today, for no real discernable reason. Well, there are reasons I guess. I'm not sure why I feel the need to qualify being in a good mood; maybe I should have that looked at.

The conference yesterday was surprisingly great. After a hellish trip through downtown traffic, being forced to park in a parking garage (I have an irrational fear of parking garages; maybe from watching too many movies where someone gets killed in one or maybe from a time when I was so high going to see a movie and having to park in one where it felt like we would just keep driving in circles up and up and up until we reached the sky, I don't know) and walking at a brisk pace when really I wanted to run into the convention center so I wouldn't be late - the day got much better from there.

The speakers they had were amazing and that always helps. I scoff a lot at self-help things, Oprahisms and the like, but I swear - you get the right kind of person with an energetic and inspiring attitude and I will be your drone every time. And the funny part is it's all stuff I already know; the power of positive thinking, being open to possibility, that everything in your life results from choices you make, that you're the only one who can truly give yourself happiness - that could all be filed under D for Duh. But sometimes you need to hear those things to feel like you've gained back that positive perspective on things. I wish they had these things every month instead of once a year.

I am a natural born worrywart. ("Wart" is such an ugly word; who thought of that? I'd much rather be a worryflower or a worrybunny) I don't know if it's the Jew gene, the fact that my dad and his mother are like this or just the luck of the draw, but I hate it. It's exhausting and also a big waste of time. If I could somehow figure out how to make it stop completely (besides self-medicating), I'd be one happy bitch. But some of the thinking tools that were shared yesterday were definitely a good start and they gave out one of the speaker's books to us so maybe I WILL become a self-help nut. That would be a treat, wouldn't it?

Also, I won a door prize - dinner for two at the Blue Marlin, a trendy downtown restaurant. Weirdly at beginning of the day when they announced there were a bunch of great prizes I got a strong feeling I was going to win one. That goes against all pessimistic thinking, so I'm now certain I'm psychic. More proof. On the way there, I thought of one of Brian's aunts out of the blue; mostly because of the fact that I was thinking about the haircut I'm getting today and that his aunt has had the same 1940's secretary hairstyle since she was a teenager. Then who do I see at the conference, but her. My psychic network hotline was on FIRE and I'm totally playing the lottery this weekend! No. But I should!

It's good to have an ally in the family for situations like this weekend (all described in the last post). I stopped in at my sister-in-law's salon on the way home yesterday and she's as unexcited about the family activities as I am which is great since George is actually her real father! We're getting together for a pre-event lunch today, where we'll pick up presents and whatever and she's also cutting my hair. Being close with her makes me not the outsider and that's comforting in awkward family situations. Just like my own sister and I are when we have to deal with OUR family. Sisters are truly magical things, especially when they share your sense of black-hearted humor.

Still no period yet.
Curious.

Happy Friday! Keep on rockin' in the free world.

Today's post: definitely falls under the "laments" portion

"It's so unfair."

It's a phrase I hear a lot, sometimes from myself though I try to keep that to a minimum. I don't always succeed, but having been a bitch of a little kid, I have tried to grow out of my propensity to be a whiner. I don't like people who are and I want to be able to like myself - that's a fairly simple way to keep control over it.

For the first time since setting off on the fertility journey, I dreamed last night I was pregnant. I don't remember most of it; only a vague idea of bringing the positive pregnancy test stick into work to show the only person here who knows I'm trying and having her get all happy and then I woke up. And it was the opposite feeling of when you're trying to shake off a disturbing dream; I tried to cling to that excited feeling as long as I could. I'm pretty sure I was even smiling when I woke up, which might be a first. It lasted a little while, but sometime this morning it dissipated and turned on me, leaving me to feel, truly, that it's never going to happen. I hate even writing that; but my hobby is to document and it's the truth. Yes, I'm riding the newest theme park attraction, the EMOTIONS Roller Coaster, up and down and up and down, twisty and turny and oops I think I just threw up! Who wants to hop on board; come on - it's fun!?!

Actively trying to get pregnant has brought about a lot of highs and lows that weren't there before. Yes, it was something that was on my mind almost constantly, but that's different and a lot more vague than having actual real hope for the first time. And then reading all the statistics. And the stories about people who have done this for years. The first failed attempt. It has been a real challenge at times not to turn into a sniveling whiny titty-baby and I'm sure at times I have.

To try not to say or even think "It's not fair."

I've now heard about two different families who seem to be well-known in the blogosphere and who have both lost babies in the past few days. I haven't really looked into it that much beyond what is being said on Twitter, because I know my limits and I know this isn't something that would be at all good for me, especially right now. I hadn't read or known about the families previously, so there would be no real reason for me to give my condolences. They're certainly in my thoughts and if there was a way I could figure out how to do anything in my power to make them feel better, I'd do it. Unfortunately there isn't.

This doesn't mean I think what I'm dealing with has been diminished; I've never felt one tragedy cancels another out or ever dispense this gem to someone who's hurting: "Well, you should feel lucky for what you have because so and so and these and those have it so much worse." I myself do feel very lucky most of the time. But it's like finding out my marriage was falling apart the day after September 11th - I was horrified on both counts and one had nothing to do with the other. I don't think I've ever heard it put any better than Swistle, who has the perfect disclaimer right on the heading of her blog: "I acknowledge my luckiness, without giving up my claim to the suckiness." I don't think I could ever find a better example of the point I'm trying to get across.

Grace has always had this saying, "Whatever Kimmy wants, Kimmy gets." It sounds bitchy when you don't know the entire context of it; she actually says that to encourage me to keep hoping for whatever it is I'm hoping for because things usually do work out okay in the end. (I think. Grace? You're not secretly harboring a voo doo doll of me, right? No, you wouldn't do that after all the time and effort and money you've spent helping keep me alive) During the marital rift she calmly told me one night when I was losing my shit particularly badly, "If you want to stay married, you will stay married," and whaddaya know, she was right. But there are those annoying pesky times like now, when my brain is mocking me, going You actually think this is going to happen, fool? Bitch, please! What even makes you think you deserve it? Oh, you've wanted it so long and so badly and you'll be good parents - that's supposed to justify it? Millions of people want to eat today too, but that shit ain't happening either. And I want to ask Grace, "So how about this one; am I going to get this one too? No really - I want your guaranteed seal of approval, because what you're telling me and what I'm telling me are two totally different things entirely. And I like yours better."

The other day Sister told me there's a good possibility she and Travis are going to England in June. Remember, that place I posted about a couple of months ago, the one I called my number one most dream place? Yeah, that's the one. Now, if you know me and/or my sister, you know there's nothing in the world I want more than for good things to happen to her. She's one of the most generous, giving, hardworking, kind-hearted person in the world, and she's married to the other one. But, and Sister do not take this the wrong way or I'll drive down there and put a rotten baloney sandwich in your mailbox, sometimes I just have to wonder where I veered and what the fuck happened. Come on, I'd be a big lying liar if I didn't admit that. Or maybe it's just simple like when I told Brian's mom about it the other day: "Well, Kim (Kee-yim) I'm sorry, you didn't marry a rich man." She is nothing if not direct and to the point. And this is her beloved first-born she's talking about, so it's not like she meant any malice with that statement. I just had to laugh.

This is starting to head toward dangerous pity party territory and I know it's a slippery slope once you get started. Like I said, I don't like whining so I hope this wasn't taken in that tone because that's not how I meant it. I don't have the talent to sometimes accurately spit out what's going on in my head; I just know it gets a little crowded in there if I don't let some of it out sometimes.

Life. Sometimes it isn't fair. But I will buck up; I always do. In the meantime I'll take the useful advice my prolific husband once said: (and trust me, he was joking because otherwise he wouldn't still be walking amongst the living)
"Quit your bitchin' and get in the kitchen."

Equinox Fever

I'm feeling a little...restless, I guess is the best word for it. I just read this:
"The Vernal Equinox is one of two days in the year in which the tilt of the Earth's axis is inclined neither away from nor toward the sun, which is vertically above a point on the equator." Translation: it's SPRING, bitches! And man, do I have the fevah. It's bad. I have a shit-ton of work to do, yet here I am doing this instead. Taking a thirty-minute break to run around the campus. Socializing with co-workers I normally try to avoid, just to put off working. And I know there are other obvious reasons for this impatience, but regardless of the whys, it's been a real challenge to restrain myself from running screaming out of here (Yes Heather, and Yabba Dabba Dooing while I'm at it) and it's been like this for the past two weeks or so, progressively getting much worse after the five-day monsoon finally ended.

Everybody seems to be talking about the perfect weather they're having (except Florida people who say it's already in the high 80's which is a joke but that's why I don't live there anymore) and here is no different. Being able to walk around the neighborhood in jeans and a t-shirt in the evening; that's gone a long way toward calming my nerves, which seem to get worse at night, as always. Mornings, though? Are great. I bounce out of bed most times without even the benefit of the alarm clock and God knows that doesn't happen very often.

I'm having these weird urges...to dust off the golf clubs and go play at that cheap par three course we used to go to all the time. To go to Lowe's and spend a bunch of money we don't have on more flowers and plants and garden stuff. To go to the zoo. To keep the doors open as much as possible and wash everything inside the house with something citrus scented. I want to take our leaf blower and get rid of all the brown rotting pieces of shit leaves that are covering the yard and pissing me off with their dirty wet shittiness. What the hell, leaves. Nobody wanted you around after the third week in November when you fell anyway, you pains in the ass.

Most of the rest of the year it doesn't bother me I work inside at a desk four days a week. That is not the case right now. Now is when I regret not fulfilling my true destiny as a groupie for Motley Crue. It's probably a really good and healthy thing I'm taking a road trip soon. My head is about to explode, but on the plus side if it really did do that right now I'm sure glitter and rainbows would come flying out. Maybe a Broadway musical or two.

Totally off topic, a tip from my home to yours: Don't ever let the dog clean your plate of corned beef and cabbage. I admit it was a rookie mistake, but one that I will never make again. Though like Heather pointed out, it wasn't the dog's fault, but the living room smelled like hot garbage nonetheless. I had to stop Brian from emptying out an entire can of Oust directly onto the dog's ass. Sorry for the foulness right around lunchtime but I'm only trying to help.

But, okay. Back to work. Right after I take another little jaunt to somewhere other than here.

If Summer has the dog days (which make me feel the opposite of how I'm feeling right now), Spring should have puppy days - bouncy, happy, frolicking puppy days.

Not that I'm freaking out or anything...

...But why the FUCK am I showing signs of ovulating TODAY??? The shot of hCG was supposed to make that happen the day I got injected! Yet, my underpants tell a different story. Yeah, gross, deal with it. I'm freaking out. It's way too soon to try and test; I know that much. So now I get to freak out hardcore for the next week and a half. Instead of just the normal freaking out.

I am physcially restraining myself from calling the doctor. But that's only because it's the end of the day and I know they aren't there. I'm totally calling in the morning though. And I hope they're ready for the nastiest phone call they'll get all day - "Why did I have the sticky shit coming out YESTERDAY and not FIVE DAYS AGO???" That's why they get paid the big bucks - to answer phone calls like this.

Julie? You may want to reconsider writing to me. I'm not a calm person by nature and it doesn't take much to send me flying right over the edge. Like right now, for instance.

Other than that, my day was going just swell. The weather is gorgeous, my boss wasn't here and I got a ton of stuff done at work. Two weeks from today I'm heading down to Florida to see my much-missed work friends and Sister. Were it possible to wish myself two weeks into the future, I would be climbing aboard the flux capacitor RIGHT NOW.

No good can come from thinking/talking/writing about this too much. So I'll stop.

Stream-of-psycho-ness

My first thought upon waking this morning: "What in the fuckity FUCK am I about to do???"

I'd like to say things have improved from there, but I don't like to lie. To give you a little glimpse into the psychosis, I'm pretty much veering back and forth between, "What if it doesn't work? to What if it DOES??" The best way I can describe it is I feel like I always do when I'm about to get on a plane - only without Xanax this time. And after checking the weather report and seeing there will be storms and turbulence the entire flight.

I wish I knew how to meditate - don't you just sit there Indian-style and go, "Om?" with your eyes shut? Because I just tried that and it didn't work and my foot fell asleep.

The times when you need drugs the most? Are always the times you can't have any. The irony does not escape me.

I put my lunch together this morning; soup, crackers, yogurt. As far as I can figure it's still sitting on the kitchen counter and I'm now eating a slice of pizza. Which, had I thought about it, I should've gotten sushi for lunch, because duh. That's one of the no-no's just in case I do happen to catch pregnant tomorrow. Not that I really want sushi, but I know once I can't have it, I'll want the hell out of it. I know me. I know me very well. By the way, does anyone know if you're allowed to eat tuna fish? I can never remember that and I'm avoiding looking anything up online that is pregnancy-related. Don't want to jinx anything.

Psst, anybody got a sedative? Ha, kidding! I wouldn't take one if you flipped it into my mouth with a Quaalude chaser and a nice cold crispy caffeinated Coke to wash it all down with! And if you believe that one, I have a stimulus package I'd like to sell you.

I figured writing would help. I figured wrong.

Uh...what else? Oh yeah. The Beatles thing was cool last night. It would've been a lot cooler had they played Come Together, Helter Skelter, Help, and Lucy in the Sky. I told HeatherI knew better than to hope for Dear Prudence, Blackbird and Norwegian Wood; I'm not stupid. But those others I thought would be pretty standard ops for a Beatles-esque experience. But they didn't consult me. A bonus was the first part of the show they were backed by the South Carolina Philharmonic Orchestra - way cool. A bonus-opposite was our seats were at the very front of the balcony section and while making our way to them I got the worst case of vertigo/acrophobia (fear of heights - I just looked it up) and then claustrophobia I think I've ever had. It only lasted a few minutes, but damn; have you ever had to keep your shit together for a short period of time in public but you knew any minute there was potential to Make a Scene? I was so on the verge. I'm really happy I didn't. I remembered Laura'sthoughtful pot post yesterday and at that moment was EXTREMELY thankful I wasn't high like I totally would've been back in the day. That would've been bad news bears.

It's been a long time since I've partaken in the weed, but I bet starting tomorrow I'll want some. Weed, sushi, coffee, tunafish...And by the way - who in their right mind tries to get pregnant this close to St. Patrick's Day, dumbass!? I drink like twice a year and this holiday is one of the days. Idiot. Well, we only have plans so far to go to a pre-St.-Pat's party this weekend, so I'll just buy some Sprite and green food coloring and be done with it. And oh yeah, ha-ha, if Brian thinks he's getting drunk on St. Patrick's Day, he can kiss my blarney stone. It's all about the spousal support, right?

Did you know Daylight Savings Time starts back this coming weekend? Who's the d-bag who decided to make it so early this year? After having it start so late in the Fall. I know there's like one or two states that don't observe it - someday I will move there. It's horseshit.

My mom asked me if I wanted her to drive up here for the procedure tomorrow. Ha! But I guess to you, the untrained ear, that sounds like a very nice offer, right? Well, just so's you don't think I'm a heartless bitch, let me tell you the rest of the story (damn, Paul Harvey died the other day, sad) before you judge me. I thanked her but told her it's not necessary right now (leaving out of course the fact Brian's mom is coming with us) but that hopefully it'll work and she can come up to go to an appointment with me later down the road when there will be more exciting things happening than a five-minute proceedure and we won't even know anything for two weeks. She then started to drunk-cry (it was an hour past vodka:thirty - I should've known better than to call that late) (late being 7:30) and tell me she feels guilty. Because all this? The reason I haven't had a baby yet? Is her fault. Yes. Do you not know how a martyr's mind works? Everything bad is because of them/happens to them/whatever to them, but it's ALWAYS about them. Nevermind that she actually DID have two kids without the benefit of fertility technology back then. No. That doesn't matter. She had "problem" pregnancies (I wanted to suggest that perhaps cigarettes and booze probably weren't the best choices, but of course I didn't) and because of her problems, my life has been incomplete.

'Ludes? Anybody? No? Okay.

All right. Well, I guess I should probably try and do something productive, even if that just means I manage to appear normal for the remainder of the time I have to be at work.

If you get a chance tomorrow morning around 11:30, say a little prayer for me. I heard that on the radio a little while ago and can't stop singing it so wanted to pass it along to you. But seriously. Thanks for sticking around through all this weirdness; it really means a lot.

See you on the flipside.

Sunday Saddies

I'm not sure if this is a real phenomenon or just one more quirk that makes up this bizarre and sometimes frightening brain of mine. I've never really put any time into researching it or finding validation in other people feeling this and I'm not sure if I'll be able to describe it adequately, but I'm going to give it a go anyway.

It's this feeling I get most every Sunday afternoon. It doesn't matter what time of year it is, what the weather is like or even what's going on in my life at the time. It's sort of a dread/anxiety mix that can go from minor and in the back of my mind to full-blown panic and I never know which one it'll be until the magical time of the week arrives.

There are factors that contribute to how bad it's going to be though; I've recognized that over the years. If I happen to be in a job I hate, which luckily hasn't happened in a very long time, the reason is obvious. I hate the job and Monday morning is merely a night's sleep away, so therefore there is dread about going to someplace I hate in the morning. There have been times over the years where we've struggled financially and I know the week is going to be a challenge of figuring out how we're going to stretch macaroni and cheese, a loaf of bread and a can of corn for five days in a row. I understand that could have definitely added to it, though luckily too it's been awhile since things were that bleak. So okay, work and money - pretty straitforward.

My sister suffers from this as well and we've tried to analyze it together. Her theory is that it probably dates back to school days when Sunday nights meant finishing up homework or studying for a big hairy test that we'd probably put off doing until the last minute. Getting bad grades was not an option for us, so I can buy that. And whether you're in school or at a job (assuming it's a Monday through Friday gig like I've almost always had), the end of the weekend generally means the end of your free time and fun for another five days. Friday afternoon never looks as far away as it does on this night.

But since I'm not dead broke or in a hateful job these days, why does the feeling still get me week after week? Things are really good at the moment. I'm pretty darn happy, dare I say even giddy at times. I took some work home with me this weekend and finished it, thereby getting myself a little ahead of the game for tomorrow. I've had a good and relaxing weekend, productive and fun.

Yet as we were riding home this afternoon, I looked out at the gray and brown sky and landscape and felt that old familiar feeling start coming on. Every bad, sad and negative thought I can dredge comes bubbling up. It starts late afternoon and lasts through dinner time and into all the nighttime activities: TV, shower (with refreshing Dove yellow grapefruit soap!), reading. If I am going to suffer a shitty night's sleep, odds are really good it's going to happen on Sunday night. Which is also why this night is when I'm most likely to medicate myself to sleep.

Then Monday comes and nothing is ever as bad as I'd imagined it. Never. And I know this, so why do I suffer from this weird short-lived, once-a-week-like-clockwork depression? More importantly, is there something I can do about it? I'd certainly be interested in hearing thoughts.

Back to life, back to reality

I spent the last day of my freedom yesterday in sweatpants, a t-shirt and a hoodie. Comfort clothes. I tried to stay away from the computer for the most part and read a lot of my book. We rode up to our Kangaroo for a gallon of milk and that's the only time we stepped foot outside the house. I felt like I was preparing myself to go into battle. I was so sad, thinking about how fast my vacation went by and going back and forth between feeling guilty for not getting more done around the house to berating myself for not laying around and relaxing enough, from not spending enough time with Brian to feeling like if he said one more thing to me I would answer him with a smack in the mouth. It's fun being me.

Now I am feeling a little silly for all that brain drama last night. As I was driving into work today I started thinking, I really don't have that hard of a job. I don't have to answer a phone hardly ever. I don't have to make invoices match anymmore. I'm not responsible for people's paychecks anymore. I don't have to have a lot of human contact. I work four days a week, for the love of God. So a little pep talk, and by the time I walked in I felt ready to face the day and to co-exist with Crazy again after almost three weeks without her.

She started off the day by furiously sweeping her work area. I'm not sure what kind of dirt could've accumulated during the time we were gone, but it must've been a lot because she was at it for a good half hour or so. I sighed a little and thought, Welcome Back Kotter.

A little while later my chirpy boss came in to welcome us back and tell us all about her fabulous trip to Turkey over the holidays. Turkey, really? Okay. Skye liked it well enough when she lived there for awhile as a little kid, but I've never thought of it as a highly desired vacation destination. A lot of Skye's pictures from that time look brown and sandy. My boss apologized for not having her pictures ready to show us yet - it's amazing how she thinks we actually are excited to see them. Does she really think that? I wonder. Either way, she then walked up closer to my desk and gave me some news.

The office I'd requested moving into about two months ago? Is now mine for the taking.

My own office. By myself. Four walls and a door. That I can shut whenever I want. A bigger desk than the one I have now, bookshelves on two of the walls, a leftover radio/cd player nobody wants. Mine. No more Crazy and her Crazypants ways. I don't know how I'll get through the day without hearing her speakerphone conversations, how she cuts people off before they have a chance to ask her anything else or say good-bye to her, diligently clutching her purse tightly to her side wherever she goes as if she holds the key to the universe inside, her Angry Black Talk Radio shows, etc. The only time I'll see her now is in meetings and passing each other in the hall. I'm still in shock a little.

I had to exert a lot of self control not jump up and hug my little 4'9", 90-pound boss. Not to hug her little peanut head to my ample breast while I shed tears of joy into her steely gray locks. The urge was very strong. Instead I smiled a lot and thanked her a few times and asked when I could begin the moving process to which she answered as soon as I wanted.

Dear Diary, this is the best first day back to work ever!

Of course lest you think everything in my life is all unicorn poop and party glitter today, Brian's truck wouldn't start this morning and he's stuck at home, trying to fix it with no success so far.

But that's okay. You know how I worry if something isn't wrong. I can live with this one right now.

Limbo

I've always sort of hated this week of the year. The kind of dreary, letdownish and bloated feeling you have after all the Christmas activities are over. The sort of purgatory where some people are at work, some people aren't, the ones who are are usually part of just a skeleton crew biding their time until they get off early on New Year's Eve.

Which brings me to that.

I've never been much of a fan of New Year's Eve OR New Year's Day. Don't get me wrong - I have had some great ones in the past. But I always feel like there's so much pressure to do something, to party and drink and kiss whomever at midnight and watching the ball drop while everybody drunkenly counts down together, but someone is always off on the number. It was a real relief a few years ago when we realized a quiet night at home could be just as nice. I don't like forced revalry and that's what it started to feel like. Though I don't mind small get-togethers at someone's house and Kristen was nice enough to invite us to hers, which would actually be my choice of what to do. The only other thing we had planned was going out to dinner with Brian's dad and new stepmom who are coming up from FL. Since I know it'll be their treat, that could be okay too. Now that I only drink on the very rarest of occasions (I'm pretty sure Kristen's Halloween party was the last time...which hey Kris - why you always gotta be tryin' to get me tanked?), I enjoy not being hungover on the first day of the new year.

Which brings me to that.

New Year's Day, whoopity do. A day of nothing the hell to do but watch football, which by this point I would rather punt one right through the TV screen instead. And whatever the hell nasty shit you're supposed to eat for good luck that day, like black-eyed peas and ham hocks or pigs feet or chitlins and goat nuts? Who came up with that anyway, some poor old southern mama who only had that shit to feed her family that day so she told them it was for good luck for the year? I don't fucking think so. You can't fool me, old lady.

While I do have some things to be really excited about in the upcoming year, I'm moody and impatient and ready to get to it already. It's been real, 2008. It's been real, it's been fun, but it hasn't been real fun. Word to your motha.

I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell

Dude.
Things are feeling really weird around here. I don't feel quite as stabby at the moment, but what's up with these Wellbutrin pills. I've been reading about them all morning, trying to see if other people talk about having weird side effects and the answer to that is a resounding YES. I have a metallic taste in my mouth like I'm sucking on a penny. I had totally bizarre dreams all night long, none of which I remember. I keep nodding out like a G-D junkie, and every time I do, I have a short little dream-like thing. What. The. Fuck.

If you are an ex-smoker, here is my plea to you now. Can you please share with me HOW THE FUCK YOU DID IT??? I'm taking any and all ideas, seriously. Although if you've never been a smoker, I don't need to hear from you. Because you have no idea what I'm talking about and lucky you. Lucky you, Schmucky me. I do feel like a schmuck. I didn't even START smoking until I was like 22 and in college! I was hanging out with three smokers who were my best friends at the time, we drank a lot of beer together every weekend, and somewhere along the way on one of those nights, I thought it would be a good idea to light a cigarette. A few weeks later I thought of another great idea - buy a pack of my own! Yeah. Good stuff.

I'm looking to Sister as my inspiration. She stopped smoking the day after my wedding, so that means she hasn't smoked in almost ten years. Her motivation was falling in love with Travis, who is totally anti-smoking. She said she used the gum for about a week and a half and other than that used Tootsie Pops, which I'll be buying today. I'm so amazed and proud of her that she was so successful with it. Especially right now, when I feel as though I am losing my mind a little.

I keep thinking about an article I read a few years ago in Rolling Stone where Steven Tyler said it was harder to quit smoking cigarettes than it was to quit doing heroin. I'm in total belief that statement is true.

Help me, Obi Wan; you're my only hope.

It's FUN being a girl

Tomorrow I get to go to an appointment where I'll strip down to almost nothing but a paper shirt, sit back on a reclining chair, put my feet up in stirrups (DAMN, gotta do toenails tonight) and let a stranger nose around and check out my innards. It's not like this is anything new; I've been subjected to this atrocity for almost twenty-five years now. But no matter how many times I go through it, it NEVER gets any easier or more fun.
I realize I'm lucky to be able to afford healthcare.
We're lucky to have the technology to prevent a slew of problems by doing nothing more than getting a check-up. We live in amazing and wonderful medical times and I shouldn't complain.
But.

I was thinking about it. As with household chores, men sort of most of the time almost always get off easier than women. What's the most humiliating thing a man goes through at the doctor - the prostate exam and that ball-grabbing, turn the head and cough thing? Please! If I knew tomorrow the doctor would only have to grab my boobs and make me cough, I'd be a hell of a lot less freaked right now. And I'll admit I don't know exactly what goes on in a prostate exam, but I'd be willing to guess it doesn't involve a cold sharp speculum.
And...say we're ever in the position to become parents...I just wonder how it got arranged so that the balance of jobs got tipped so far one way in the woman's favor. Of course I WANT a child, of course I'm willing to go through whatever hellish nightmare lies in store in order to GET a child, but damn. It's scary.

I like being a girl. Most of the time when you catch me saying stuff like this, it's the day before a doctor's appointment or something similar. Maybe one day out of the month, every twenty-eight days or so. But now is not the time for complaints. It's time to buck up and be a brave little soldier. Did you know a certain tribe of Indians used to stick tiny pieces of pine into a person and light it on fire so the person could actually watch themselves slowly burn to death?

Sorry for that visual, but what I'm trying to say (and convince myself) is that it could be worse. Much worse.

I also just found out my cousin is having breast reduction surgery today. This is what I mean. Through no fault of her own, she got stuck with huge and I mean humongous boobs ever since she was thirteen and has dealt with backaches and bad jokes for twenty years. Now she's going through a painful surgery trying to get rid of both, I'm guessing.

I'm done. I'm not bitter or unhappy, just nervous.

Welcome to my brain

I've talked a lot about my neurosis. I'm a champion worrier, so much so that if there's actually nothing for me to actually worry about, I get worried because things are going too well. It says a lot about me that I can only relax when something is wrong. Luckily, there's usually something wrong, so I'm usually fairly happy. If not, I will either create something random (What if one of our cars break down? What if we become the victims of a drive-by shooting while at the convenience store? What if that big, sort of dead-looking tree falls on our house?) Don't laugh at that last one; during a hurricane one year, trees were dropping like flies and we ended up with a crunched fence but had it blown the other way, we would've had a brand new tree-made skylight in our bedroom. Or else I'll get excited over the good things that are going on, but for me excitement feels a lot like anxiety.

Issues.

Last night I was up until three, excitedly anticipating my trip to see April today. Unfortunately the trip got postponed, but that doesn't mean I'll sleep any better tonight. After all, I only have three days of work left before the long vacation and there's a lot I'm excited about. Going to Florida, seeing my favorite people, Christmas and its related activities, etc. But, there's always the chance that the dog could fly off the back porch after a squirrel and break his leg, causing a vet bill that could wipe out our bank account. You never know. And then what? THEN WHAT???

It makes me wonder about how I'll be should I ever become a parent. Grace has teased me about this before and I had no choice but to agree with her. If my anxiety level is like this with just two people to worry about (not that I just worry about us, but you know what I mean), add another person into the mix and let's see how jacked up over nothing I can get! Luckily Brian is the opposite, or maybe I should say more normal one, who only worries about things when it's warranted. Oh, to be that serene. Without the aid of drugs. I wouldn't know what to do with myself with all that extra time and energy.

I ended up going shopping with Iris yesterday and though it was unplanned, had a really nice day. She is so cute. She has a lot of people to shop for, but to keep things fair in her mind, she has a little notebook she keeps with her so she doesn't end up getting somebody more than somebody else. This even includes George, her husband. I don't know - it does seem a little anal, but on the other hand it's not a bad system. (Aside: Linens 'N Things is going out of business. Or at least the one here is. While I do prefer Bed, Bath & Beyond it was still depressing to go through a nearly empty store and realize in nine days it would all be gone. If I ever had that experience at a Gap or Target store I might need a strong drink afterwards.) (But we did get great deals on Yankee Candles, so there's that.)

I just noticed the date and realized I missed my annual tradition of having a moment of silence for John Lennon the other day. I suck. Also, on this date in 1983, I made out and almost went to second base with Pat, the guy I wrote about the other day, the one I drove twelve hours to see for twelve hours.

Now do you understand a little more of the things that float around in my head all the time? I went from anxiety to happy to sad about a store closing to remembering the first time I ever got felt up in the space of ten minutes. It takes talent.

Consider the source

Before I say what I'm going to say I'll remind you this post is being written by someone who does not have a child, who has tried a very long time to have a child, who tries to stay positive and not be bitter about it most of the time. It is however, something that exists somewhere in my mind at all times. All. Times. Whether I'm actively having a sad day over it, or I'm doing okay, it's there.

This time of year is obviously a little bit more of a challenge. In case you haven't noticed, this is a pretty kid-friendly holiday. I smile through getting together with our families and being the only ones kid-less. I feel a little stupid for putting up decorations just for us and whoever happens to come over, but I do it. When we get cards with pictures of everybody's beautiful kids and I send ones of our dog with antlers on. I enjoy this time of year enough so that I'm okay with everything most of the time; I certainly don't want my bullshit to take away from seeing all the babies and kids I live to see.

Considering all that, you'll understand maybe why the following story makes me want to climb the nearest bell tower and start shooting.

Over the weekend we stopped by the redneck friends' house for a few minutes to drop off some firewood. Brian and Nick did their thing unloading the truck and standing around the burn barrel for a few minutes, while I went inside to see Sheri and the kids. Making small talk, she happened to tell me some news about a good friend of hers, someone Brian also grew up with but never liked too much. My husband has never minded a skank here and there, but this girl goes beyond that. Anyway, he only likes hot skanks. This girl is hot-opposite. She even has the perfect skank name - Crystal. Sorry if I've offended any Crystals out there - I'm sure you're enjoying great success in your stripping career.

An aside: The first time I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Crystal, rather than saying "Hi" or "Nice to meet you," she turned to Brian and said, "Is she cool?" Neither of us knew how to respond to that, so she translated. It meant did I smoke pot. I'm telling you, this one is KLASSY.

Anyskank, Sheri told me in a very concerned way Crystal had had her baby prematurely. Not having totally remembered she'd been pregnant, I feigned interest and acted appropriately concerned. She then said the baby is in the hospital still and he's doing a little better now but they were really scared for a few days and he'll still have to be there probably through Christmas. That's sad, I'll admit and at this point, I was feeling a little bad. Until what she told me next.

You have to understand one thing about Sheri - she's a very sweet girl, someone who doesn't have a bad thing to say about anyone. This is why we'll never be really close friends; I'm way too cynical for that shit. But especially since Crystal is one of her friends, she tried to say this in the most diplomatic way possible, without being harsh or blaming Crystal. Not sure why she even told me this in the first place, but whatev.

Apparently when Crystal got pregnant this time it was a surprise (even though she has three kids already - I don't know, by now you'd think she'd understand what happens when she has lots of unprotected sex?) Her husband is like eighteen years older than her, but hey - at least she's married to this one, right? Way to go, Crystal, being all old-fashioned and shit. Regardless. After learning she was pregnant, she just couldn't seem to make herself stop smoking (obviously weed, but also cigarettes), nor from enjoying the occasional beer. She also has back problems, so Sheri thought maybe she took muscle relaxers as well. I guess since she'd done that with all of her other pregnancies and those babies came out just fine, she saw no reason to change anything this time around. Completely logical; I totally see her point.

Sheri continued talking but by then I'd stopped listening and sort of unfocused my eyes. Until she told me she was on her way over to visit Crystal and the baby in the hospital and asked if I'd like to go along with her. I politely declined. I then excused myself to go outside and told Brian it was time to go home. Like, now. On the way home, he asked if something was wrong. Sometimes he's observant like that. I told him the story. He sighed and said it didn't surprise him. And then, like he's told me many many MANY times, "Please try not to be upset," grabbed my hand and held it all the way home. He was working and trying so hard to get me back into a good mood, I did what I always do and buried it. It's a friend of a friend, someone I've only met a couple of times and who has no impact on my life whatsoever.

Retards have babies every day. Bad parents are everywhere. Kids who don't deserve it get treated like shit in ways I don't ever want to think about. It doesn't matter what I want or what I think is right; it's not going to change a fucking thing. But the next time someone gives me that old stand-by cliche, my all-time favorite "Everything happens for a reason"? They might not like what I say back. I guess it'll depend on what kind of mood I'm in, whether or not I fakely agree or slap them in the mouth. We'll just have to wait and see.

End rant.

I'm too old to learn new slang

It's 4:19 a.m. and for some stupid reason I'm wide awake. This is wrong on many levels.

But while I'm here, can I bitch about something for a minute? Thanks.

I know all the cool kids these days use internet speak - lol, wtf, omg, etc. I blame text messaging, instant messaging and general lazyness. Oh believe me; I'm guilty of it too. But there's such a thing as moderation and I really try to limit myself on my usage. In real life I do use the phrases "Oh my God" and "What the fuck" a lot, so those abbreviations are more acceptable to me. What I DON'T ever use is "Laughing out loud," or "Rolling on the floor laughing my fucking ass off" (another girl I know writes ROTFLMFAO All. The. Time. The most popular one by far however, has to be the abuse of the lol acronym. I know someone I only know through Myspace (yeah, I know) who has a serious problem with the lols...like he writes it after almost everything he says. Does he really crack himself up that much? If so, good on him, but since we're not real life friends, I find it difficult to address this problem. I'd love to say DUDE! Can you cut back a little? Not everything you and I are saying is that funny!

I don't see this changing any time soon, so I know I need to just get over myself. I guess I'm just moody from my Girl Time of the month. Riding the cotton surfboard makes my cranky, so consider this rant obsolete in a few days - LOL.