quest for a faerie child

on being read

I'm struggling today with the idea of journaling online.  Every once in awhile this happens to me, usually when I am made aware that someone is reading me, someone I didn't really expect to be reading me, or someone who I don't really know, but now do because they've come upon me and recognized me in my life.  It's always a jolt to me, a jolt to my senses, a little wake-up call, wherein I say to myself, 'uh, hello?  It's the web for fuck's sake and you have an unusual name, ---not to mention the fact that you are always faerie-something-or-other.'  It's not too difficult for a resourceful person to go a-lookin'.

What truly bothers me is that my posts on here are like a picture, a snapshot in time of what was going through my head as I sat at a keyboard and typed my little heart out.  There are some things that were written months and months ago.  Just because they were written back then and seemed true to me at the time, doesn't mean that they are true now or that what comes out of my mouth, which may contradict what I have written in the past, is any less true now, simply because I felt differently back then.

That is the nature of humans, I believe.  We are ever revising our thoughts, our feelings, our emotions.

If you go looking for something, it just may be that you find a snapshot in time from May or June or a year ago, rather than the true depths of what may be going on right now.  If you go looking for something, it tells me you are looking to support a theory and anyone can support a theory if they want to badly enough.

So now, I'm faced with the certain knowledge that I am being read and I need to figure out what that means to me and my thoughts moving forward...

have blog, can diagnose

Hello.  What possessed me to eat a cheeseburger and fries for lunch today?  Not only do I feel like vomiting, but my belly feels like it is going to explode and not as a result of a hyperactive uterus.  No sir.  This is me and my eyes telling me I've been craving a greasy cheeseburger, while my brain goes, 'Dude, don't do it.  No good can come of this.'

I'm seriously considering bailing on work, except that I am one of the only people available because everyone else is either on vacation, has mondays off, or called in sick.

I went to an endocrinology consult this afternoon just before lunch and for some reason I really did not want to go to that appointment.  I mean, I considered every possible excuse not to go.  The only thing which kept me on track was that:  a) I care about my baby and would not want to adversely affect its health simply because I'm developing an aversion to doctors, and b) It took me 2 months to get this appt.  By the time I could get in again, I'd likely be in my 3rd trimester and that would be less than helpful.

But I found myself during the appointment acting like I knew everything and explaining away everything that is going on with me on my pregnancy, which I do actually believe, mind you.  However, it's really unlike me to be so... blase about my health and it's incredibly unlike me to be telling a doctor what is going on, unless I know them fairly well or feel pretty confident about what's going on with me. 

Sometimes I would be talking during this appointment and in my head, I would think "what the hell are you talking about?  How do you know the numbing and tingling are a result of your pregnancy.  I mean really... how do you know?  They asked you on the questionaire about it because obviously, it could be a sign of something else.  And here you are, dismissing things."

As far as I know, I did not, in fact, go to medical school.  No, I'm pretty sure that I have a dual degree in German and Political Science.  My liberal arts degree gives me a good background in a multitude of things, but I'm fairly positive that medicine is not one of them.  I am also quite certain that my current position in a school of nursing where I act more in an advising capacity than anything else, does not entitle me to any real medical knowledge, either.

So, long story short.  I need to keep my fat mouth shut at doctor's appointments from now on.  I felt like an idiot and I am wondering if I came off that way.  Partially I wonder if I'm just tired of there always being something wrong with me.

When the possibility of twins came up, a well-meaning friend said to me "good god, will there ever NOT be any drama where this pregnancy is concerned?"  I agreed with her at the time and laughed good-naturedly.  But then later, I contemplated that statement for what it was and realized that I'm absolutely tired of there always being something not quite right with the status quo. It's draining.  It's stressing.

And here's the real truth: I didn't want to let that doctor talk because I didn't want her to tell me that I'm in serious trouble (which I'm not), but nothing would surprise me any longer.

Ah so there we go.  I've diagnosed my problem in the short space of about 20 minutes.  Who needs therapy?  I'm so glad I stopped going after the miscarriage (that should be read with a touch of sarcasm mixed with chagrin).  Have blog, Can Diagnose.   However, here's the catch in that whole line of thinking:  diagnosing is great, wunderbar, cool.  But, can you do something about that, missy?  Can you, uhm, fix the problem?

What?  Do you have nothing to say about that?  Ah, not so smart now, are we?  No, we've always been good about recognizing our issues.  It's overcoming them that's the real problem and that's where therapy always came in. 

Ah well, eventually things will come around and I'll find myself back in the therapy saddle, but for now I'm taking a little break.

13 weeks on Lovely Friday

Fridays are the life.  That's my statement today.  I've been awake for exactly 3 hours and I feel the desperate need, already, to take a nice long nap.  I seriously think the bebe must be growing like the beanstalk or something, because I am so utterly exhausted.  I am beginning to sound like a broken record.  First it was the overwhelming nausea for months.  Now I'm complaining about my narcoleptic tendencies.  I bet you're thinking I'm going to complain for the next 6-7 months, right?

You are probably correct.

I will say I've had an eventful morning already, in my defense.  I vacuumed, picked up (sort of) the bedroom and made the bed, cleaned up the kitchen (including putting away the clean dishes from the dishwasher and cleaning all countertops and stove), moved the desk into the shrine for ultimate hibernation today, watched a DVR'd show, drank a steamy latte and am now ready to pass out.

It's supposed to be 105 degrees today.  But I care not.  I care not because, as I've mentioned too many times, I have a/c in the shrine and I hit week 13 today.  I am now a 2nd trimester faerie. Hallulujah.  The bebe's hb is a good 151-154 everytime I go lookin' for the little lime-sized doodlebug and he likes to hang out on my right.

Once again, I'm getting strong male vibes.  First it was male, then female and now male. I'm convinced that my strong intuition which told me I would be pregnant before I even was, is failing me miserably in the whole gender situation.  I cannot count on it.  I will have to wait for another 5-7 weeks to find out.

As I've said before, patience is not my virtue...

got me some writer's block

I suck.  I am in such a fantastically crappy mood today that I can't even manage to leave my office for fear that I may just rip someone's head off, devour it and then feel incredibly nauseous for the next several hours while remorse overwhelms me, or even worse ---doesn't.

I feel as if I just want to be home.  But then when I actually contemplate that, I begin to feel nauseous and bored to tears at what awaits me at home ---which is, actually, nothing ---nothing but TV, sleep or my laptop screen staring at me, blinking at me, screaming at me to write already, write something, edit something, FINISH something for god's sake! 

I think I just really need to finally accept the fact that I got me a big case o' writer's block, yo and stop denying it.  I mean, it's bad. It's so bad that I now make myself sick as soon as I think about opening up the laptop for a creative endeavor beyond reading blogs or posting my own nonsense.  I think this writer's block business is really self-imposed.  Of course, that's a fucking ridiculous statement, because honestly, what else would it be?

But in all seriousness, I think it is a result of a number of things.  The first of which is that I am too self-absorbed, body-absorbed, symptom-absorbed to be able to reach deep and draw forth any gems of literary genius.  The second is that I seem to not be comfortable writing anywhere in my home or outside my home, for that matter.  I can't get comfortable anywhere.  The third is that I'm dealing with the fact that Moose doesn't like to read my type of writing.  He's just not really a fiction person.  He's more historical and political in slant. So, I'm trying not to feel like he just doesn't care, because I know he does (or at least I know in my rational, non-hormonal moments) and I am trying to not take it personally.  I am trying not to hope for constructive criticisim in any way shape or form.

But I think that lack of desire to read my writing on his behalf has really kind of been somewhat of an earthshattering blow.  I mean, shouldn't your partner, the one who loves you, the one who has impregnated you and wants to raise a family with you, be interested in that which MOVES you?  Shouldn't he just fall all over himself to get his hands on the fruits of your mind?  Or is it OK to be with someone who just doesn't get what you write.  They respect that you do it and think you are an amazing writer, but what you write isn't really their cup of tea.  Is that ok? 

I'm having trouble here because I'm so damn hormonal that I can't really make a decision as to what is rational when all it really feels like is that this is NOT a good sign, buddy.  In my pregnant state, it makes me feel as if we are headed for the rocks and we only just began.

I think this is why they tell you to uhm, get married and be together for a while before you attempt the baby-making game.  What they neglect to tell you is that you need to feel really strong in your relationship before all these hormones kick in and make you feel like a two-headed monster all the time, before you start feeling like a cow and before you start feeling as if every bit of your life's essence is being sucked out of you.

Gawd.  Am I a piece of work today, or what?

attractive sprawl, expanding waist

Waking up this morning, it is hard for me to fathom why it is that I make a conscious decision to work, not only 4 10's, but to work the hours of 5am - 330pm.  When I have days where I can sleep in, and still go to work, I feel an incredible sense of peace that is not readily available to me when I am flying around the house, trying to make it up to the hill by 5am.

It is now 630am and I am, once more, sitting out on the front porch in the adirondack chair, drinking a mixture of 3/4 decaf, 1/4 caf coffee and wondering if it's going to stop raining enough for me to ride the vespa in to the training, rather than the bus.

On the whole, I have nothing against the bus.  However, riding the number 4 home in the afternoon can be an exercise in sheer frustration.  It is crowded.  It is loud.  It is usually standing room only and I never was one of those 'bus-legs' people, the kind who can seemingly stand upright with no apparent means of support as the bus sways from side to side and makes sudden, jerky stops.  No, it takes me both hands and every single ounce of my concentration to remain standing up and not sprawled attractively across the floor.

Add to that the fact that my sense of smell is going haywire and I feel as if I am being accosted whenever I get near the bus.  My stomach starts to turn when I see the bus lumbering down the street towards me.

At this point, it has simply become a choice for me.  How wet am I willing to get, in order to ride the vespa in?  If it's lightly sprinkling, can I handle the 7  minute ride?  What if it is slightly more penetrating?  Do I care if my pants get wet? --because I have no desire to wear my rain gear.  I do not want to wear the rain gear for one very simple reason.  I feel fat.  I feel like my waist is expanding already and I can really only be about 6 weeks at this time.

Perhaps I am just gaining weight, weight that has nothing to do with my current condition, but rather with the amount of food I am inhaling.

Ah well... the choice will be made in the final minutes before departure, regardless of how I truly feel.

perhaps there is another

Rain falls as I sit, ensconsed on our front porch, surrounded by an amazing variety of flowers.  The neighbor's encroaching rhodies in a brilliant pink, but up against the fence and contrast with the rather large, sprawling japanese maple.  Hanging baskets of petunias, geraniums, impatiens and these tiny purple and orange flowers, lend a burst of color to the white porch.  Roses of yellow and red are abundant and extraodinary.  Then there are these purple and white flowers, large blossoms of them.   I have no idea what they are, but they are beautiful and sweetly smelling.

We were incredibly lucky to be able to move into this house.  While we don't own it, the house is owned by Moose's best friend from grade school and therefore we have license to do what we will with it and it feels like our own.  We moved in because I was pregnant and we needed more room than either of our separate living accomodations could have provided.

However, shortly after moving in --within a week to be exact, I began miscarrying.  While I was 10 weeks pregnant, the fetus was only measuring 6.5 weeks with no heartbeat --6.5 weeks when we had had an ultrasound at the true 6.5 weeks and saw a healthy, living fetus with a strong heartbeat.  Somewhere directly thereafter, it must have died.

Seeing the 10 week ultrasound was devastating, but what was even worse was the week and a half it took me to miscarry on my own and all the extraordinary pain that entailed.  I had never experienced pain like that and I have had surgery, been involved in a very serious car accident.  No, nothing prepared me for that pain.  But, I was determined to not have a D&C.  There was no way I wanted them entering my body and stopping its natural healing process.

My body and I won, eventually.  Finally.

Anyway, since that time it has been a bit of a journey.... but the fact remains, that I still feel excitement at being in this house, even though I will not be delivering at the end of August, we will not be beginning our family this summer.

But, perhaps there is another one growing right now within me.  Perhaps.

it seems good

Relaxation is mine this day.  Kim and I treated ourselves to a massage and I have to say it was everything I needed.  I woke up this morning in a complete funk, but I'm feeling amazing now.  I can always tell how wound I am by how long it takes me to clear my mind in the midst of something really relaxing.

And it took a fucking long time.  But I am now far calmer than I have been in recent weeks and my body feels fabulous for now.  The only thing bothering me at this moment are my breasts, but that just seems to be par for the course.   I also seem to have so much more energy than I have had.

I steamed artichokes to grill this evening along with some chicken breasts.   Soo, dinner seems to be on track.

I thought Mother's day would be difficult for me because of the miscarriage, the not knowing what is going on with me in the pregnancy department and because of my estranged mother.  But, overall.... it seems good... It just seems pretty good.

get a grip

I've decided to stop obsessing on this.  I'm going to wait an entire week before I test again.  I'm just going to stop checking my breasts every 30 minutes or so to make sure they are still sore and aching.  And I am absolutely not going to run to the bathroom everytime I feel a little something.

In fact, I'm just going to stop thining about it.  That's it.  Mind over matter, mind over matter.

Instead, let's talk about the pulled pork from last night, the pulled pork which did not take 6 hours, but rather 8 hours and still was not the pull apart lovely stringy pork I was looking for.  It was fabulous, don't get me wrong, but it definitely was not the pulled pork variety.  I read some reviews on epicurious of the recipe I used and found towards the end of the cooking cycle that some people suggested not pulling it off until the pork reached 190.  The recipe called for 165.

However, by that time it was already after 8pm and I had a very hungry man and his very hungry friend on my hands and so, I made the decision to pull it.  Next time, I'll start way earlier, instead of at 1130am.

Ah well, live and learn, I guess.

I've attempted to write today on more than one occasion and while I did produce several pages of text, I am not entirely pleased with it.  It lacks description, rich description.  Perhaps, I am not great at that.  Or more likely, I am just not as moved by this idea, as I thought I was.  I can produce lovely, intriguing stories out of my ass when I am moved to.

I think my mind is just working on overdrive and I have been able to do nothing but obsess on my current state or non-state, whichever it may be.

get a grip girl.  Just get a grip.

reasons to love me, or not

Reasons to love me, or not:

• I am motherless.  This does not mean I am an orphan.  It means I have cut off all contact with the woman who bore me.
• In the space of a year, I went from being an only child to one of seven.
• In the space of a year, I went from having six siblings to having only one that I still call my own.
• In 2003, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.  I still suspect the diagnosis is not true.
• I am moved to write and feel out-of-sorts when the words don't flow.
• I struggle spiritually, but still somehow feel there is at least some type of higher power.
• I create beautiful, lovely recipes and dream of feeding the world, one person at a time.
• In the last five months, I have been pregnant once, miscarried once and now suspect I am pregnant again.
• my creative endeavors sometimes leave me feeling like I have MPD.
• In relationships, I've been with men and then one woman and now the only man for me.
• I adore reading, but currently find myself with the inability to focus upon any one novel.
• I worry constantly about money, even when I don't have to.
• I am probably both more goofy and more serious than anyone you'll ever meet.
• At heart, I am a hermit. 
• In my daydreams, I am a social butterfly.
• I am a hurricane of unimaginable fury when crossed.
• I love deeply.
• When I was four, my grandma closed the bank vault door at her work on my thumb...my sucking thumb.  The horror.
• I've worked long and hard to stop thinking and seeing myself as a victim.  Thank you therapy.
• I am in love with my life.
• I spent a year in West Germany as an exchange student and returned with a love of beer, the german language and an incredible sense of self.
• On a ridiculous personality profile test we did for work, I am classified as a dolphin.