Lateshoes

I won’t lie. It’s been a brutal few days. I’m not really ready to type about it. Don’t know if I ever will be, but I’m doing a bit better as of the last hour or so. I slept and watched many, many hours of Buffy (which, Netflix has available to “watch instantly,” so no more excuses for any of my friends who have yet to watch and love the slayer). I cleaned the house and cried a lot.

I miss my cat. I’m sad that I’ll never see her fat, little body – sitting in the windowsill. I’m sad that I can’t hold her or talk to her. I’m sad that she’ll never scratch or bite or crankily meow at me ever again. She was the one animal I believed could and would live forever. She was a warrior and a goddess of a creature and I’ll never be able to express how lucky I was to have her in my life for 11 years.

Wally’s better – now Stan is sick. I don’t know how parents of human babies do it.
Clearly you are a stressed out, but wonderful people.
I need iced tea more than Sarah Palin needs to shut up.

Oh fertility, you terrible and cruel little bitch. How you make me laugh and sigh and spit obscenities like Andrew Dice Clay.

Cycle 5 of “trying” and I’m “trying” not to seduce Britney Spears with a Bear Claw and Cheetos for the sole purpose of punching her overly-fertile womb in its nuts.

No really. I’m having fun. I’m looking forward to  medieval torture devises being rammed up my cooter so doctors can take pictures and “judge” my fallopian tubes like they’re on Dancing With the Stars.  That sounds peachy. Hijinxy, even.

Sigh. I mean, “Yay!”

via Shakesville: Girls 4 Obama

I haven’t had my period in over 4 months. I knew it was stupid to hope that might mean something other than the usual – something other than being broken – but, I did. Secretly, I had been walking around for weeks imagining that I might be knocked up. I’ve been feeling “off.” I’ve been dizzy, clumsy, hormonally crazy, forgetful, sleepy…you name it and over the last couple of weeks, I’ve felt it.
So, today while waiting for my second bus, I slipped into Walgreens and without any fanfare got a home pregnancy test. I waited several weeks to take this step, because I feared the reality of the outcome. I’ve enjoyed entertaining thoughts of babies and motherhood. I’ve enjoyed imagining what a wonderful father Lars will be. I even enjoyed thinking about the complicated financial and job scenarios having a baby would introduce. Anyway – taking a test would crush the whole thing and I knew it. I knew it would, but I had to take it, just to know, just to be sure and also to kind of force myself out of the fantasy before I got REALLY upset about a negative outcome.
I took the test. Waited two minutes, with the little digital display blinking at me. NOT PREGNANT. What a mocking, fucking cruel way to put it. Thanks a fuckin’ bunch. I realize now that I will never buy this kind of test again. I could have handled a blue line or a minus sign, but spelled out like that – the thing might as well have read, FUCK YOU…. (blink…blink) Asshole!
Yeah, so I’ve been in a funky mood ever since. I almost snapped out of it over at Melissa’s watching Top Model, but when I got home I immediately started cleaning everything, so I knew I hadn’t even reached the worst of it yet.
I’ve gotten teary a few times, but I’m trying not to cry. I don’t know why other than I want to stay positive. I want to put that positive energy into the universe and have it throw a healthy, nerdy-cool baby back at me. Someday, in the near-ish future…and also a car. I think the universe at least owes me a cute, little hatchback for way less than low-book price… oh and a better job. I think that’s the least it can do after saddling me with a fucked up, stupid body that can’t even make babies right. I want restitution.