So, like, I keep forgetting I'm pregnant.
I mean, that's not exactly true. It's not like I'm pushing open the door to the bar and I'm all "Eureka! Hold up a moment, there, chum, I believe I may be gestating! Rats, perhaps I may take a rain check?" because no, seriously, I stay away from things that are bad for me or whatever.
It's just that most of the time? I don't feel pregnant. Other than that whole ONE FUCKING WEEK (how lucky am I? And here I sit, tempting fate again.) of uber sickness, I haven't been especially ill or anything, and I'm not really showing yet at 2.5 months, so... It's easy to forget there's a multiplying and dividing mass of cells and stuff growing in my belly.
Except when I get hungry. Which isn't entirely accurate, since I'm never hungry. Ever. I don't get hungry. I don't want to eat food, and no food sounds good. If I don't eat every 2-3 hours, however, I get SICK. Like, REALLY SICK. Like, grab your ankles and scream for Jesus until the desperation echos in your cooter and wakes the baby, sick.
But other than that? This thing isn't real to me yet. In fact, it's so unreal that when I'm experiencing a notable lack of sickness and complete void of any other symptoms of my delicate condition, I spend most of my time worrying. I worry that something's gone wrong, that the baby isn't growing, or that we'll go to the doctor on the 4th and find out hey, sorry! We don't know how all those tests and the first ultrasound were all wrong but guess what! No baby in your tummy! Go on home and have a good night! It's THAT unreal to me. So, so unreal.
That'll change, right? I'll relax at some point, right? I mean... I have to, don't I?
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Pussy Boy go -splat-
I almost ran over my ex today. Literally.
See, he does this thing where he pretends he can't see me, when he... uh, sees me. He'll physically turn away, hunch his shoulders, and pretend really hard that I'm invisible. This extends to anyone I might be with, even if he's good friends with them. They don't exist, nothing exists except whatever is in the exact opposite direction of wherever I am. He'll actually turn to keep his back to me, without any sense of irony, spinning in circles if I keep moving around him. I wish I were exaggerating, but I'm almost sure he even closes his eyes. He honestly is PRETENDING I'm not there, not just ignoring me. He's make-believing. My hand to Jesus, I swear it's true. He does this with a complete lack of humor, not seeing how rediculous it is at all.
Something about me being mind-numbingly happy and getting pregnant with my new boyfriend's kid a scant 5 months after I kicked him out of our apartment has apparently put his balls in a bunch. Or something. Me, personally, I smile and wave and chalk it up to a bad relationship come to end. We don't have to be friends, but there's no reason for us to be enemies.
He doesn't feel that way. He feels like I'm a giant evil douche bag that broke his heart (I kind of did that) and doesn't care (no... no, I don't, actually.) He's just a much better victim than I am. He's happy with it, so whatever. I try not to go against his wishes -- which he was specific about: "I never want to see The Girl again as long as I am alive." He not only said this to me, but to every common friend we have. He may have written a letter to the President and copied it to the Pope, for all I know. He's very serious and stern about it.
I digress! Moving along! So, I was driving and I came to a stop light on a corner, where I was going to turn right. I saw him standing on the corner, to my right, and he saw me so he did the THING. He turned away, stared straight ahead, and pretended I was not there. (Seriously, you can see him thinking I can't see you, I can't see you, La-la-la-la, I can't see you... It's bizarre. Mostly because he's 32, not 4.) When the light turned, I turned right.
Well, I don't know if he thought he could also pretend away my car or what, but he actually stepped in front of my MOVING VEHICLE. I'm not even kidding. Like, he stepped off of the curb and IN FRONT of my CAR.
I'm not actually clear on which of us has the right of way in this situation, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't step in front of ANYONE without looking. Also, mind you, this is the person that I would gladly strangle into unconsciousness, and he realizes this. (I can't suffer perpetual victims and pompous assholes. I tried -for three years, yo- but I just can't.) He knows I have no patience for him and absolutely zero remorse about our relationship ending. I used to care that his feelings were hurt. Then he turned into a douche bag. Not surprisingly, I quickly stopped caring.
Now why in the hell would a person step in front of a moving vehicle being driven by someone that wouldn't stop to see if they were alive after running them over?
Motherfucker has some balls, I guess. I don't know. My best guess would be that he actually expected me to wait for him to cross the street. (Have I mentioned he's pretty full of himself? And over confident? And that everything is a power struggle, that he always has to be in control, and right, and you have to always pay complete attention to him and what he wants, and that by not being the first one to continue on his way, he would feel inferior? Because, oh yeah, THAT.) Or maybe he really thinks that by pretending I am not there, I won't be. Maybe he's got some kind of magic disappear-o power that he hid very well from me. I can see that being a possibility, and although I didn't FEEL invisible, I can promise you that I know for a fact my CAR was not. It was very real, very hard, and aimed right for his body.
So to make a long story longer, his reflexes seem to have improved since I helped him box up his shit and get it out of my apartment, because he very narrowly avoided my bumper by throwing himself backward onto the sidewalk.
I hope he skinned up his hands. Or at least his ass. I hope what he takes away from this isn't that I would gladly run him over (I wouldn't. But I'm not going to STOP if he steps in FRONT of me,) but that you can't just pretend things don't exist -- they're still there, moving through the world, all around you. All you're going to gain by refusing to look at something is the benefit of not realizing you're about to be run over.
See, he does this thing where he pretends he can't see me, when he... uh, sees me. He'll physically turn away, hunch his shoulders, and pretend really hard that I'm invisible. This extends to anyone I might be with, even if he's good friends with them. They don't exist, nothing exists except whatever is in the exact opposite direction of wherever I am. He'll actually turn to keep his back to me, without any sense of irony, spinning in circles if I keep moving around him. I wish I were exaggerating, but I'm almost sure he even closes his eyes. He honestly is PRETENDING I'm not there, not just ignoring me. He's make-believing. My hand to Jesus, I swear it's true. He does this with a complete lack of humor, not seeing how rediculous it is at all.
Something about me being mind-numbingly happy and getting pregnant with my new boyfriend's kid a scant 5 months after I kicked him out of our apartment has apparently put his balls in a bunch. Or something. Me, personally, I smile and wave and chalk it up to a bad relationship come to end. We don't have to be friends, but there's no reason for us to be enemies.
He doesn't feel that way. He feels like I'm a giant evil douche bag that broke his heart (I kind of did that) and doesn't care (no... no, I don't, actually.) He's just a much better victim than I am. He's happy with it, so whatever. I try not to go against his wishes -- which he was specific about: "I never want to see The Girl again as long as I am alive." He not only said this to me, but to every common friend we have. He may have written a letter to the President and copied it to the Pope, for all I know. He's very serious and stern about it.
I digress! Moving along! So, I was driving and I came to a stop light on a corner, where I was going to turn right. I saw him standing on the corner, to my right, and he saw me so he did the THING. He turned away, stared straight ahead, and pretended I was not there. (Seriously, you can see him thinking I can't see you, I can't see you, La-la-la-la, I can't see you... It's bizarre. Mostly because he's 32, not 4.) When the light turned, I turned right.
Well, I don't know if he thought he could also pretend away my car or what, but he actually stepped in front of my MOVING VEHICLE. I'm not even kidding. Like, he stepped off of the curb and IN FRONT of my CAR.
I'm not actually clear on which of us has the right of way in this situation, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't step in front of ANYONE without looking. Also, mind you, this is the person that I would gladly strangle into unconsciousness, and he realizes this. (I can't suffer perpetual victims and pompous assholes. I tried -for three years, yo- but I just can't.) He knows I have no patience for him and absolutely zero remorse about our relationship ending. I used to care that his feelings were hurt. Then he turned into a douche bag. Not surprisingly, I quickly stopped caring.
Now why in the hell would a person step in front of a moving vehicle being driven by someone that wouldn't stop to see if they were alive after running them over?
Motherfucker has some balls, I guess. I don't know. My best guess would be that he actually expected me to wait for him to cross the street. (Have I mentioned he's pretty full of himself? And over confident? And that everything is a power struggle, that he always has to be in control, and right, and you have to always pay complete attention to him and what he wants, and that by not being the first one to continue on his way, he would feel inferior? Because, oh yeah, THAT.) Or maybe he really thinks that by pretending I am not there, I won't be. Maybe he's got some kind of magic disappear-o power that he hid very well from me. I can see that being a possibility, and although I didn't FEEL invisible, I can promise you that I know for a fact my CAR was not. It was very real, very hard, and aimed right for his body.
So to make a long story longer, his reflexes seem to have improved since I helped him box up his shit and get it out of my apartment, because he very narrowly avoided my bumper by throwing himself backward onto the sidewalk.
I hope he skinned up his hands. Or at least his ass. I hope what he takes away from this isn't that I would gladly run him over (I wouldn't. But I'm not going to STOP if he steps in FRONT of me,) but that you can't just pretend things don't exist -- they're still there, moving through the world, all around you. All you're going to gain by refusing to look at something is the benefit of not realizing you're about to be run over.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Morning, my aching ass.
They call it Morning Sickness because if they called it All The Fucking Time Sickness (No, Seriously, ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING TIME SICKNESS) we'd all be scared out of having sex and the human race would dry up and blow away like a fart in the wind.
Mine isn't bad yet. I mean, I don't think so. I kind of feel... bleh... most of the time. I wake up and for about 10 minutes I'm okay. Then I get to feeling... Bleh... Then I'm okay... Then the Bleh comes back, but it brings its friends, Achy and Fevery Without An Actual Fever. They're both kind of bastards that like to set up shop and hang out for most of the day.
People keep asking me if I'm puking. The answer is: No, but man, I'd LOVE that. Seriously. Like, have you ever been the kind of nauseous where you're thinking, "If I could just puke, I'd feel better,"? I've found myself there after ingesting Tequila, eating shellfish sold from a cart on the street, and that one time I thought it would be a good idea to eat KFC after a night of Jack Daniels and Jager chasers. That's where I am now. I've built a HOME there, gotten comfortable, really settled in. Only now it's not because of alcohol or food poisoning, it's because there are all of these cells dividing inside my abdomen. At least, that's what they tell me.
Even given this constant state of "I could puke out my eye holes at ANY MINUTE!" mixed with a healthy dash of "I think I've actually been asleep for the last 15 minutes," it still doesn't feel real. I know I don't feel like myself, I know I feel like SOMETHING is going on... But like I said, this could just be shellfish. It could be that the guy at Taco Bell sneezed on my Chalupa and now I've got a stomach bug. It could be anything, yaknow? I know it's the person growing inside of me, (for 8 short weeks already, today) but it doesn't seem real. I've seen the pixilated flicker of a heartbeat, I know there's something in there, LOGICALLY... But it's not clicking.
And can I confess something a little neurotic and silly? Every time I feel a pain in my stomach, I think every thing's going to pot and The Inevitable is happening. I figure it's too good to be true and something is bound to go wrong. My last pregnancy started to miscarry right around the point I'm at now. Although it stopped then and I lost the pregnancy later because PEOPLE ARE CRAZY, I keep expecting the same thing to happen now.
Every time I go to the bathroom and there's no blood, I feel this sense of "Really? Well shit. Wow. Awesome. Yay!" It's constantly a surprise that Something Bad isn't crashing down on us. I'm constantly talking to myself, saying things like, "Be positive. It's okay, every thing's going to be fine. YOU CAN DO IT!"
Sometimes, I even add a fist pump. Yes, I do. Because I'm the only one to hear my crazy, I don't have anyone else to fist pump for me. I don't want to worry my friends or The Boy with things, and I don't want them to feel like I'm being negative. I'm not trying to be. I'm trying to be as positive as I can, and I generally feel really good about things, so if I have to hear one of them say "Well, that negative attitude..." Or "Be positive!" I think I might punch them in the throat and play my maracas to the wheezing struggle for breath that follows.
I AM being positive. Things aren't all upset stomachs and exhaustion.
For instance: I can eat yogurt. This is huge, since yogurt has always made me projectile vomit. Actually, that isn't true. The THOUGHT of yogurt has always made me projectile vomit. I've never really tried to like it, because it's disgusting and sour and you can't make me, that's why. I tried it the other day, though, because my doctor put me on antibiotics for the remainder of the pregnancy. Something about how I had a double kidney infection 7 months ago, and oh, if that happens again I'll lose the baby. So! Antibiotics it is! And yogurt is supposed to help prevent... uh... any unpleasantness that prolonged antibiotics may cause. Downstairs. If you get my drift. You do, don't you? You're not going to make me type yeast infection on my blog are you? Oh, thank you. That might be offensive to some people. But it's my vagina and my blog, so fuck them. And yay for yogurt!
So, see... Things aren't bad. They're just nauseous. And tired. But that's good, right?
....Right?
Mine isn't bad yet. I mean, I don't think so. I kind of feel... bleh... most of the time. I wake up and for about 10 minutes I'm okay. Then I get to feeling... Bleh... Then I'm okay... Then the Bleh comes back, but it brings its friends, Achy and Fevery Without An Actual Fever. They're both kind of bastards that like to set up shop and hang out for most of the day.
People keep asking me if I'm puking. The answer is: No, but man, I'd LOVE that. Seriously. Like, have you ever been the kind of nauseous where you're thinking, "If I could just puke, I'd feel better,"? I've found myself there after ingesting Tequila, eating shellfish sold from a cart on the street, and that one time I thought it would be a good idea to eat KFC after a night of Jack Daniels and Jager chasers. That's where I am now. I've built a HOME there, gotten comfortable, really settled in. Only now it's not because of alcohol or food poisoning, it's because there are all of these cells dividing inside my abdomen. At least, that's what they tell me.
Even given this constant state of "I could puke out my eye holes at ANY MINUTE!" mixed with a healthy dash of "I think I've actually been asleep for the last 15 minutes," it still doesn't feel real. I know I don't feel like myself, I know I feel like SOMETHING is going on... But like I said, this could just be shellfish. It could be that the guy at Taco Bell sneezed on my Chalupa and now I've got a stomach bug. It could be anything, yaknow? I know it's the person growing inside of me, (for 8 short weeks already, today) but it doesn't seem real. I've seen the pixilated flicker of a heartbeat, I know there's something in there, LOGICALLY... But it's not clicking.
And can I confess something a little neurotic and silly? Every time I feel a pain in my stomach, I think every thing's going to pot and The Inevitable is happening. I figure it's too good to be true and something is bound to go wrong. My last pregnancy started to miscarry right around the point I'm at now. Although it stopped then and I lost the pregnancy later because PEOPLE ARE CRAZY, I keep expecting the same thing to happen now.
Every time I go to the bathroom and there's no blood, I feel this sense of "Really? Well shit. Wow. Awesome. Yay!" It's constantly a surprise that Something Bad isn't crashing down on us. I'm constantly talking to myself, saying things like, "Be positive. It's okay, every thing's going to be fine. YOU CAN DO IT!"
Sometimes, I even add a fist pump. Yes, I do. Because I'm the only one to hear my crazy, I don't have anyone else to fist pump for me. I don't want to worry my friends or The Boy with things, and I don't want them to feel like I'm being negative. I'm not trying to be. I'm trying to be as positive as I can, and I generally feel really good about things, so if I have to hear one of them say "Well, that negative attitude..." Or "Be positive!" I think I might punch them in the throat and play my maracas to the wheezing struggle for breath that follows.
I AM being positive. Things aren't all upset stomachs and exhaustion.
For instance: I can eat yogurt. This is huge, since yogurt has always made me projectile vomit. Actually, that isn't true. The THOUGHT of yogurt has always made me projectile vomit. I've never really tried to like it, because it's disgusting and sour and you can't make me, that's why. I tried it the other day, though, because my doctor put me on antibiotics for the remainder of the pregnancy. Something about how I had a double kidney infection 7 months ago, and oh, if that happens again I'll lose the baby. So! Antibiotics it is! And yogurt is supposed to help prevent... uh... any unpleasantness that prolonged antibiotics may cause. Downstairs. If you get my drift. You do, don't you? You're not going to make me type yeast infection on my blog are you? Oh, thank you. That might be offensive to some people. But it's my vagina and my blog, so fuck them. And yay for yogurt!
So, see... Things aren't bad. They're just nauseous. And tired. But that's good, right?
....Right?
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
So... Turns out I'm a dick.
Yeah. I am. Huge dick, right here. Because you know how I was all up in arms about how The Boy was so inconsiderate as to go out of town with his best friends on his pre-planned and reserved annual trip, and then it snowed and woe is me, I hate my life, why doesn't anyone care about me and also God is against me and my baby, waaaaaah?
Um. Turns out I'm a dirty, hissy fit having, rat bastard of a girlfriend.
Also, I suck.
He came home (of course he did) and made it to the appointment (of course he did) and we saw the flick-flick-flicker of The Bean's heartbeat, and he was appropriated shocked and awed. (Also, I think I said "Jesus!" four or five times while we watched. In a Catholic hospital. Because I'm a dick, that's why. God. Pay attention.)
We've told most of the people we work with and I told my oldest sister, who is known for being a little bit of a how-do-you-say twat when it comes to matters of any opinion whatsoever. Every one's taking it amazingly well, aside from the sister going off about how we should wait to tell people until I'm 3 months gone, because we're out of the danger zone then.
I casually reminded her that I lost my first pregnancy at 4 months, when I was CLEARLY out of her little danger zone, so there really is no safe time for me. (Or anyone. I don't imagine that I am unique in this, not for a second.) The worst could happen at any moment, I said. To which she replied "Drop the shitty attitude, blah blah, negative energy, blarby blat," and I think I mumbled something about her eating my ass. Who can say, really.
I'm not being negative. I'm being very positive, actually, more so than I would have thought myself capable. I am, however, being realistic, and I'm not going to pretend that my history is anything other than what it is. I'm not going to pretend I'm not scared. I'm not going to be caught unawares by another failed pregnancy. That being said, I'm actually doing very well with this whole Being Responsible For Another Human Being Staying Alive thing. Because worrying? Will get me nowhere. So I'm trying hard not to.
So to sum up: I'm a dick, but a HAPPY one. That's got to count for something... right?
Um. Turns out I'm a dirty, hissy fit having, rat bastard of a girlfriend.
Also, I suck.
He came home (of course he did) and made it to the appointment (of course he did) and we saw the flick-flick-flicker of The Bean's heartbeat, and he was appropriated shocked and awed. (Also, I think I said "Jesus!" four or five times while we watched. In a Catholic hospital. Because I'm a dick, that's why. God. Pay attention.)
We've told most of the people we work with and I told my oldest sister, who is known for being a little bit of a how-do-you-say twat when it comes to matters of any opinion whatsoever. Every one's taking it amazingly well, aside from the sister going off about how we should wait to tell people until I'm 3 months gone, because we're out of the danger zone then.
I casually reminded her that I lost my first pregnancy at 4 months, when I was CLEARLY out of her little danger zone, so there really is no safe time for me. (Or anyone. I don't imagine that I am unique in this, not for a second.) The worst could happen at any moment, I said. To which she replied "Drop the shitty attitude, blah blah, negative energy, blarby blat," and I think I mumbled something about her eating my ass. Who can say, really.
I'm not being negative. I'm being very positive, actually, more so than I would have thought myself capable. I am, however, being realistic, and I'm not going to pretend that my history is anything other than what it is. I'm not going to pretend I'm not scared. I'm not going to be caught unawares by another failed pregnancy. That being said, I'm actually doing very well with this whole Being Responsible For Another Human Being Staying Alive thing. Because worrying? Will get me nowhere. So I'm trying hard not to.
So to sum up: I'm a dick, but a HAPPY one. That's got to count for something... right?
Saturday, April 4, 2009
You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.
I am angry. I'm trying not to be, but I am. I'm very, very angry. I'm so angry, I'm in tears. I'm SHAKING. I haven't been angry in longer than I can remember, and it's making me physically sick. But oh, the anger. The rage.
My first appointment for The Bean is on Monday, at 0830. The Boy was planning on going. He said it was important, he wanted to be there. I was so relieved; I didn't want to go alone, but more importantly, I wanted to go with him. It's important. This is our child growing inside me, and I'm so scared that something could go wrong. He kept saying, "I have faith in you, I know everything's going to be fine. I know it's going to be ok, and I'll be there." I was so happy to have his support.
The Boy is currently out of town with three of his friends. They went to another state for a hockey game. They left early yesterday morning to get ahead of the blizzard that was coming. (That's called FORESHADOWING.)
The interstate is closed now because of the snow that's piling up across the entire state. The blizzard will continue moving slowly East from here, dumping more and more snow down. The state he traveled to? Is East. The interstate probably will not open until late tomorrow, if it does at all before Monday.
The Boy and his friends are snowed in. They're having a binge drinking, boy-fest party weekend. None of them are even remotely remorseful about this change in plans, so far as I gathered before the left and they were all HOPING to get to extend their weekend with a snow day.
This means that while they're partying I have to go to the appointment alone, which makes a scary, stressful situation INFINITELY MORE scary and stressful. (Given my history, which happens to be chalk full of dead babies. You can't tiptoe through the fucking tulips in my history without tripping over a dead baby.)
I am so, so angry. I'm angry that they were all aware they'd probably get snowed in, and it didn't even occur to him to consider what that would mean in reference to this appointment. The appointment that has been keeping me up at night, the appointment that decides whether we tell people, "Hooray, we're pregnant!" or tell them nothing at all because I can't stand to explain terrible, dead baby-type news to people I care about, so I probably wouldn't ever even mention it. The appointment he said was important to him.
I can't believe this. I can't believe that I texted him, saying "I just realized that if you don't make it home tomorrow, you'll miss the appointment on Monday morning." And suddenly there's complete radio silence -- he's not answering texts anymore. I don't know if he's trying to figure out what to say, or if his phone is glitching out -which it frequently does, stupid Blackberry- or if he's reached the point of PARTY TIME intoxication already that he's not grasping what I'm saying. (Don't get me wrong, he isn't a heavy or habitual drinker. It's just that this is their annual trip out of town, and they hit it very hard when they go places, as do all of my friends. We like to do her up right.)
I don't know.
I just know that I'm angry, and I'm hurt, and I'm scared. And did I mention I'm angry? Because I am.
I don't care if he makes it to another appointment... I just really needed him there for this one. It was important... He even said, didn't he, he even said that it was? And now he's put himself in a position where it's impossible for him to do what he said he would do.
I swing back and forth between wanting to scalp him for being thoughtless and putting me in the position to be MORE scared and MORE stressed, and just being so sad because he's not that guy so how could he be that guy this time?
God damn it.
My first appointment for The Bean is on Monday, at 0830. The Boy was planning on going. He said it was important, he wanted to be there. I was so relieved; I didn't want to go alone, but more importantly, I wanted to go with him. It's important. This is our child growing inside me, and I'm so scared that something could go wrong. He kept saying, "I have faith in you, I know everything's going to be fine. I know it's going to be ok, and I'll be there." I was so happy to have his support.
The Boy is currently out of town with three of his friends. They went to another state for a hockey game. They left early yesterday morning to get ahead of the blizzard that was coming. (That's called FORESHADOWING.)
The interstate is closed now because of the snow that's piling up across the entire state. The blizzard will continue moving slowly East from here, dumping more and more snow down. The state he traveled to? Is East. The interstate probably will not open until late tomorrow, if it does at all before Monday.
The Boy and his friends are snowed in. They're having a binge drinking, boy-fest party weekend. None of them are even remotely remorseful about this change in plans, so far as I gathered before the left and they were all HOPING to get to extend their weekend with a snow day.
This means that while they're partying I have to go to the appointment alone, which makes a scary, stressful situation INFINITELY MORE scary and stressful. (Given my history, which happens to be chalk full of dead babies. You can't tiptoe through the fucking tulips in my history without tripping over a dead baby.)
I am so, so angry. I'm angry that they were all aware they'd probably get snowed in, and it didn't even occur to him to consider what that would mean in reference to this appointment. The appointment that has been keeping me up at night, the appointment that decides whether we tell people, "Hooray, we're pregnant!" or tell them nothing at all because I can't stand to explain terrible, dead baby-type news to people I care about, so I probably wouldn't ever even mention it. The appointment he said was important to him.
I can't believe this. I can't believe that I texted him, saying "I just realized that if you don't make it home tomorrow, you'll miss the appointment on Monday morning." And suddenly there's complete radio silence -- he's not answering texts anymore. I don't know if he's trying to figure out what to say, or if his phone is glitching out -which it frequently does, stupid Blackberry- or if he's reached the point of PARTY TIME intoxication already that he's not grasping what I'm saying. (Don't get me wrong, he isn't a heavy or habitual drinker. It's just that this is their annual trip out of town, and they hit it very hard when they go places, as do all of my friends. We like to do her up right.)
I don't know.
I just know that I'm angry, and I'm hurt, and I'm scared. And did I mention I'm angry? Because I am.
I don't care if he makes it to another appointment... I just really needed him there for this one. It was important... He even said, didn't he, he even said that it was? And now he's put himself in a position where it's impossible for him to do what he said he would do.
I swing back and forth between wanting to scalp him for being thoughtless and putting me in the position to be MORE scared and MORE stressed, and just being so sad because he's not that guy so how could he be that guy this time?
God damn it.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Neat.
Even if I wasn't pregnant, I'm pretty sure the mixed smell of egg rolls, pizza and Frito's would make me fucking sick.
Yeah. Pretty sure.
It smells like a mall food court in here. In the 80's. (I don't know why the 80's. Because they're the most offensive time period I can think of right now, I guess.)
Just so we all have an accurate assignment of blame for this stinktastrophe:
The Boy made egg rolls for dinner.
I had pizza 4 hours ago.
My socks smell like chili cheese Frito's. (Stop looking at me like that. I said my socks, not my feet.)
Add to the stink swirling all around my nose space the fact that I'm so tired I'm honestly having a problem keeping my eyes open. The Boy mentioned earlier that I was typing to him, therefore he must be keeping me awake, huzzah! I then reminded him that I'm pretty sure I could still type circles around him in my sleep. Un-huzzah!
I would give the big toe on my left foot to be able to sleep for like, 12 hours. That would rock. I would be eternally grateful for that... To whom it may concern, or whatever.
And I just bet that if I were asleep, I wouldn't feel like I'm forgetting something (Super fucking power bangs and my Trapper Keeper) or like the cloying stench is going to crawl down my throat, become solid and CHOKE ME.
Edited to add: Dude, I just re-read this post right now, a couple of days later, and that bit about the power bangs and Trapper Keeper? I have no fucking idea what I was talking about. I TOLD you I was tired. Apparently, I babble like my booze besotted Aunt Beulah when I'm over exhausted. Bygones.
Yeah. Pretty sure.
It smells like a mall food court in here. In the 80's. (I don't know why the 80's. Because they're the most offensive time period I can think of right now, I guess.)
Just so we all have an accurate assignment of blame for this stinktastrophe:
The Boy made egg rolls for dinner.
I had pizza 4 hours ago.
My socks smell like chili cheese Frito's. (Stop looking at me like that. I said my socks, not my feet.)
Add to the stink swirling all around my nose space the fact that I'm so tired I'm honestly having a problem keeping my eyes open. The Boy mentioned earlier that I was typing to him, therefore he must be keeping me awake, huzzah! I then reminded him that I'm pretty sure I could still type circles around him in my sleep. Un-huzzah!
I would give the big toe on my left foot to be able to sleep for like, 12 hours. That would rock. I would be eternally grateful for that... To whom it may concern, or whatever.
And I just bet that if I were asleep, I wouldn't feel like I'm forgetting something (Super fucking power bangs and my Trapper Keeper) or like the cloying stench is going to crawl down my throat, become solid and CHOKE ME.
Edited to add: Dude, I just re-read this post right now, a couple of days later, and that bit about the power bangs and Trapper Keeper? I have no fucking idea what I was talking about. I TOLD you I was tired. Apparently, I babble like my booze besotted Aunt Beulah when I'm over exhausted. Bygones.
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