some old, same oldPosted: July 31, 2013
I’m not pregnant. Again. I am, however, in sometimes-sunny San Francisco, which is a decent consolation prize. Ok, consolation prize isn’t the thing, but aside from a breakdown or two, I honestly am ok.
This leg of the trip I’m staying with a dear friend of (maths….) 27 years (whoa.) and her equally dear girlfriend in their new-ish house and my childless and unpregnant state allows me to do things like sit a bar all afternoon drinking Pimm’s cups while reading a graphic novel and chatting with the (hot) bar tender (who was very into talking about guns and how she *needed* them to defend her “female partner and 12 year old asthmatic pug and hairless cat” to which should teach me to judge by appearances.)
Which is to say I am doing ok. The waste of all the money is, well a waste – and there’s little I like less than waste – but there it is. I have thrown away the PIO I hauled across the country and my friend has arranged for Lyon-Martin to take my extra needles and syringes so I don’t have to throw them away (see waste issues above), so that’s all ok.
Which is not to say that this doesn’t suck. It does. And I have no idea what happens from here. No fucking idea. But right now, I am in good company, writing and reading and drinking tea. And tonight I get on the train to travel up the coast to Seattle.
Which is to say that the world will continue to turn and I will be ok.