Me: leftover fish of unknown origin (dinner from my folks’ last night), with boiled rice, which is not inferior to anything, sauteed peppers, onions and other shit. With very salty and delicious sauce. One child asked, “but what’s inside the fish?” Um… fish?
Girl Neighbor: nachos from new burrito place downtown. “Stick with burritos,” she says. Just F y’all’s I. (Also, I think new burrito place may be new only to me.)
Or, maybe a stage mother.
Either way! My boy kitten is going to be on film!
Here he is, all in cognito and shit, on cho-girl’s lap:
Sadly, I can’t figure out video on old WP. I was going to show you his audition tape.
From Bionic, who has lovely drawings up right now that her wife did. Maybe once the gf and I are wed, she’ll do such things for me? Hmmm… Maybe not.
Anyway, a list – my fave! The rule is one word only. Yikes.
Your Mother: compassionate
Your Father: kind
Fav Food: popcorn
Dream Last Night: funny
Fav Drink: whiskey
What room are you in?: living
Where were you last night?: home
Something that you aren’t: pregnant
Wish List Item: fence
Where you grew up: home
What you are wearing: second-hand
Your Pet: perfect
Something you’re not wearing: underpants*
Fav Store: IY
Fav Color: orange
Last time you laughed: morning
Your Best Friend: loves
Best Place you go over and over: bed
Person who you email regularly: LB
Fav Place to Eat: home
*haha! I am the same as Bionic!
I’m finding tagging hard to follow up, but Hard Girl is it. Get on, girl.
See my friends? Over there, in the sidebar! Aren’t they cute? You, too, can send them money! Whee!
How about you log your lunch, too. Becuase I miss your lunches. I had left-over macaroni and cheese. So did CHO-girl. Hers was better. Poor me. Luckily, we both had coffee!
My internet is working! Whee! Hence, I had a perfect skype date with the Girl Scouter, which was better than therapy, and I got to read real, live blogs! Which let me in on the secret that I was tagged for a meme! I’m still junior-high enough that being tagged makes me all squeal-y and full of exclamation points! EEEEEE! They like me! And by they, I mean the queen of the two-for-one deal, Bionic. Go on ahead with your bad self, babe – log your lunch for me. You know I love it.
Ok, ok. I haven’t done a meme in a while. Hell, I haven’t blogged in a while. Do y’all even read any more? So let me put the rules up first, because I heart rules. Ooo! Ima put them in a list – what’s better than a list *and* rules? Nothing, that’s what.
- Thank the person who nominated you and link to their blog.
- Copy the award and paste it to your blog.
- Tell us 7 interesting facts about yourself.
- Nominate 7 bloggers that you love and link to their blog.
Now, to think of seven moderately interesting things… umm…..hang on, I’m thinking. Shoot. This shit is hard. Ok, here we go.
- My internet connection prowess is for shit. This is not even remotely interesting, let alone moderately, but I am telling you anyway because it makes me crazy. For example, while I was typing that last sentence, it went out. And now is back on again. Save early, save often, as my father says. And it’s out again. Lord.
- I buy two different kinds of cat food – fancy, local organic full-of-meat kind and generic, mass produced, full-of-filler kind – and then I mix them. But will I feed my cats canned food? No. Too much trouble. Do I feel stupid and guilty about this? Yes.
- Above my bed, thumb-tacked over a handwritten copy of Emily Dickenson’s poem about hope, is a copy of the u/s picture from when I was pregnant. It’s not a picture of a baby to me, but I just can’t take it down.
- I still do not fully understand how to make use of WordPress and it’s media options. Also, I do not have a working camera. I miss having lots of pictures on my blog.
- My chickens are producing 3 or 4 eggs a day. And a lot of poo.
- I have a great deal of follistim in my fridge. Because the IVP is full of kind and generous people, some of whom do not have blogs (ahem, Lizzie). To whom I think I still owe some shipping money.
- I love my job. I don’t blog about it when it’s bad, so there’s no way for y’all internet peopleto know just how mother-fucking bad it was last year. Now now that’s it good, I’ll run on a little. My job is so great. So, so great. My kids are great, my assistant and my intern are great, my families are great, my classroom is beautiful…. on and on and on. It’s so great. And I’m on vacation this week. Heh.
Yikes, now I have to pick seven bloggers…. all without a fucking internet connection. Why, internet? Why? Why do you hate me? Why must you keep me from my internet peeps? Why?
Ok, I’ll just make this next list (3 lists in one post!) Full O’ Links later. When the internet starts cooperating. I love speaking of the internet as if it were a real thing.
If you are on this list, you must participate. Even if you rarely, hardly ever, really not even ever blog anymore. Ahem. Yes, I mean you.
- Tay at feyac blurk, who is also T of Tuesday Fame around here. Because you need to see her photography.
- Car Free With Kids. Because they are living my fantasy life. In which I not only give up my car, but I also know how to ride a bike. And in which I have kids.
- It’s taken me this long, but I finally got with the program and figured out where to find the best dressed blogger in town. (Now, let’s hope she talks about cars, too.)
- My dear and equally well dressed friend A. Because she and the Sartorial Butch should be friends.
- Chicory. Because we love her. That’s the royal we, y’all. And because she’s good at noticing what’s good in her world as we all should be.
- I think she doesn’t blog anymore, but I am still crushed out: Wake Up Naked.
- And of course, LB. It’s not a life without her.
Good lord. I need to update my blog roll.
You see, this is how it is: infertility is rough. It eats up at the edges of who you think you are and sticks long, brittle poles into your being. You have to walk very, very carefully after those poles are in there. Those fuckers are brittle and will shatter at the least provocation. And you thought you knew who you were. Ha. I’d like to be all new-age-y and shit and say how I’ve “grown as a person” and that this “journey” is a “gift” that has brought out the “better parts” of my “true self.” But we all know that’s some bullshit. It’s just been ugly and has made me uglier.
Disappointment is a bummer. And it’s the lifeblood of the infertility world. You’d think it was hope that kept us all going, but nope. You’d be wrong. We continue because the disappointment is so damn disappointing. Hope, on the other hand is the brick wall you keep banging your head into until there’s a nice dent in both the wall and your head. And here I was, hoping my best self would rise to the occasion and provide some much needed grace. Oh, well, as the kids say.
And it gets old. Talking about your bitter brittleness. For real, nobody wants to hear it anymore. Not even yourself. Disappointment is so god damn boring. Can’t we talk about something else?
(Although, clearly, I can’t talk about much else, if you notice just how little I’ve had to say of late. I wanted to tell you about the injectables cycle this fall and how it almost broke me, literally and figuratively. About the cycles missed on account of holidays. About how even with femara, home inseams are just not working. About how I am on the far side of 35. I wanted to tell you all those things. But didn’t, or couldn’t, or something.)
So, yeah. I’m going for an appointment to talk about IVF in a couple weeks. I’m just tired. Five years in and I am just fucking tired. Of disappointment and bitterness and waiting. It’s time to bring in the big guns or throw in the towel.