Aiming for once a week for the rest of the summer is do-able, don’t you think? I mean, I’m hardly working. And then perhaps I could also do things like clean up my blogroll, which is sadly out of date, and maybe log my lunch everyday. Really, I have no excuse.
It’s been a hard couple of years, y’all. But I think I am feeling better. Time. I’ve taken two years of it and now I am calling you, though not in the morning.
Here are things:
- it is hot as fuck here, again, and there has been no rain and the plum tree has lost about 1/3 of it’s leaves. Jim Waive saw fit to remind me that I like to freak out about the weather in July.
- I am gearing up for (yet another!) embryo transfer, avec steroids and lovenox, which is said not as if you planned on marrying an ox, but as if you started to sing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and then changed your mind and wanted to talk about vans and oxes.
- there is Neighborhood Dramaz. Really. More than one drama. One neighbor is concerned that my cats mistake her front flower bed for a litter box. Oops. Not much to be done but apologize and give her some eggs. Production has improved slightly since my last post, btw. Other neighbor, previously featured on Caved as a Serious Cat Person, is very upset that another neighbor has vicious sounding big dogs that are not supposed to be at his house but for some reason keep coming back. Written out, it sounds so silly, but she is truly distraught. To the point of sounding irrational. And the offending neighbors do nothing, which is the shame of it, I think. Starrhill is pretty tight; there are really only a few of us in the place and this is how we usually handle shit: if you’re upsetting somebody, go talk to that somebody, hold your damn hand out and try to make some compromise. I fear it has gone on too long for that at this point. And that the actual owner of the dogs seems to be the sort that thinks she doesn’t need to hold her hand out.
- LB and I are splitting a share from Appalachia Star farm again this summer and it’s pretty great. The tomatoes are about to come rolling in and I am very excited. In other food news, I have pots of herbs that I am actually using for the first time in years. It’s like being born again. Sort of. Being home to make a lunch is like being born again.
- I had another miscarriage awhile back – whee. This one didn’t hurt, which was nice. The sliver lining is that it put me up to the magic number of three miscarriage, which makes my insurance company willing to pay for the Big Giant Pannel of Autoimmune tests. I do love a good visit to my lab people.
- my old neighbor, who should just move back to Starrhill, solving all the Neighborhood Dramaz, loaned me the book about running everybody read like 2 years ago, and which I also happened to give my dad but never read myself, and for about 5 minutes I was all “I could run!” And then I laughed at myself. Because the part of the book about eating beans and tortillas is really much more up my alley than running.
- one of the search terms I just saw in my stats is tiny tits. Hahahahahahaha! Sorry, wrong blog.
I have been thoroughly enjoying Twitter and Instagram. We can blame that for my lack of blogging, but didn’t everybody have that particular crisis like 4 years ago? Only my laziness to blame, as per usual.
- the market, pre-yuppie invasion. Got tiny pumpkins for singing the 5 Little Pumpkin song at school. Did not get any meat. Am sorry now.
- let the kittens outside to play.
- let the chickens out of their yard to be temporarily free range.
- visited with LB.
- coffee out plus tiny grocery shopping at Reid’s with newly re-found gift card!
- helped change spark plugs on dad’s truck. Got to borrow t-bird. Fair trade, yes?
- went to tiny reunion of kids from my summer job/birthday party, which was fab.
- dinner with K and E, which was also fab.
- bed, ah, bed….
- let kittens out again to play. Kittens are SO happy! So! Happy!
- let chickens out again, too. Chickens are SO chickens! Just chickens.
- had coffee and the comics in the sun on the front porch
- admired frolicking kittens
- yard work: moved thyme and oregano to newly weeded bed on the south side of the house; moved wooly thyme from pot to ground in two spots to reclaim it’s ground-cover roots, mowed lawn.
- gamboling kittens!
- laundry: delicates, whites, sheets. All on the line. (I run out of clothes pins before I run out of line space with my new clothesline.)
- moved litterbox to mudroom, freeing downstairs bathroom from lowly “cat bathroom” status and facilitating transition to no motherfucking litterbox. I hope.
- picked up LB in the t-bird and went for a drive. Saw Jim Waive play, drove home. Did not cruise through a hamberger stand, but had fun all the same.
Yesterday, there was a random knock on my front door. Now, things have been pretty shit around here, and I didn’t really want to answer the door, but I did. Cause it’s rude not to and why compound misery with rude?
Anyway, it was this older guy, smoking a cigarette, with some story about being hired to rake some lady’s yard, but she didn’t have a rake and his was at his house across town and he didn’t want to walk all the way home to get it and did I have a rake he could borrow?
It seemed maybe sketchy. But I do have a rake so I told him to meet me around back and I gave him my rake, which has been much neglected of late and he thanked me and swore up and down he’d bring it back and went on his way.
It wasn’t real generosity on my part; it was an attempt not to snap at him and refuse just because of my own unhappiness. It didn’t make me feel particularly better and I did wonder if I’d see the rake again.
When I answered the door just now, it was him. With my rake and and offer of a few dollars, which I refused. He asked God to bless me and I replied, “you too, sir” and what I meant was that his stranger’s blessing was enough for my atheist ass.
It’s mini-vacation time here in Starrhill – no school till Monday! Whee!
So far today, not in this order: plotted killing schemes with LB; written dirty emails; fed cats; saw a very hot, brand new Porsche outside my window; fed and watered chickens; got up; got dressed; made turkey broth; went to Reid’s for sour cream for cupcakes, thereby breaking my vow to not buy things on Buy Nothing Day (*sigh* crap); read the comics.
Now I’m going to make cupcakes and listen to Al Green.
OMFG. WordPress has fucked me again with the pictures. Anyway. There are cupcakes. Yay!
Or, Sunday To Do:
Oh, fuck it. Let’s make a list.
- laundry the first (Oh, laundry, how do I love you?)
- start sponge for bread (Got late start, so there really is no time for the no-knead stuff – it’s back to my old bread bff, Tassajara. I do love you though, Mark Bittman, I really do.)
- mop the kitchen (Blah. Mopping, I dislike you as much as I love laundry.)
- work self into a snit over current events/sexism/state of the yard.
- eat something (Note to self: recent bad habit of 2 cups of coffee before breakfast = not good.)
- anticipate visit from the kids from the Valley (!)
- mirate very clean stove and oven, don’t think about how long cleaning said stove and oven took, don’t notice spots that will never be really clean because the fucker is at least 60 years old if not 70.
- laundry the second (*sigh* laundry….*sigh*)
- get sidetracked talking to LB
Ok, so the real fun is over on my lunch blog. Really, y’all. If you’re not logging your lunch, you’re missing out. Highlights include serious panda bento boxes, repetitive but delicious beans on toast, food fights between prominent London lawyers and peanut butter crackers stolen from small children. Ok, just kidding on that last one. And the one before that. But really. Go log your lunch.
I forgot to tell you the neighbors moved. Insert big sad-faced emoticon here.
It’s sort of great, really. Who doesn’t want friends with a little farmette? But, for real? I miss knocking on the door to borrow a lemon and ending up staying for dinner. I miss stealing their internet. I miss early morning coffee on the porch in our pjs. I miss looking from my kitchen window into theirs. I miss watching prime time tv with them. I miss late afternoon drinks, when we’d stand around on the sidewalk with no shoes, watching the baby run around in the yard.
It was months ago they left, but I am still really not used to the idea yet.
I love a telephone survey. For real.
So this poor kid has my phone number – the last land line in non-Christendom – pop up on his list of people to call. God love the child, he didn’t know what he was in for. His calls for tonight were to ask questions about where people buy food. Lord.
Highlights from him: “Can you spell that for me?” “Do you consider that a food store?” “I understand.” (When clearly he didn’t but wanted me to shut the fuck up about how low prices aren’t necessarily a good value when it comes to food.)
Highlights from me: “Nope.” “They don’t carry that.” “Well, if by ‘selection’ you mean excessive fake choices, then I’d give them a 9.”
And then the “demographic information”…. Heh. Yes, I am of Hispanic Origin (thanks for asking!). And my “household income” is the lowest you have on your scale. And I’m white, which you like to call Caucasian, which is ok with me. And I’ve moved into the next age bracket, so I am no longer what you might call youthful.
“Thank you and I hope you have a nice evening.” You, too, kid. You, too.
Ok, so remember I used to be sort of funny? Sometimes, I mean. Before infertility beat me down? Before everything sort of fell apart last month?
(Um, yeah. I clearly didn’t really tell you about all that. Uh, sorry?)
Anyway, yes. Here I am. Fertility on the back burner. Trying to make it through. But here I am, as cho-girl and I used to say.
Speaking of cho-girl, we are back in the saddle at school. And, predictably, it is kicking my ass. However, I also get fun things like a 1 year old noticing a classmate changing clothes:
Me: “Yes, she’s naked. She must be changing her clothes.”
Child takes self up to other part of classroom to watch. I want to give him a big A+ on his toddler report card, but I don’t because we are all about intrinsic motivation.
There are, yes, many good things to be learned in my class. This is not to say that this is a funny, but to point out (to me) that there is more to my life than slogging along the “path” of infertility.
Because I love a list.
- laundry – bring in rags and towels already on line, hang out lights, start load of darks
- post microburst tidying outside: sweep steps and sidewalks, rake random mulch bits back into place, possibly trim edges
- scoop out poopy chicken straw, offer to neighbor whose garden took a beating in the storm and it’s clean up. Also give her plants to make up for ones the chickens killed
- turn on ac
- scrub bathrooms
- vacuum – floors, rugs, furniture
- call to schedule cd 3 baseline wanding
- call to get low-down on starting stims
- pick pits out of jam, transfer to jar
- buy coffee and new razor
- cry about the neighbors moving
It has been one of the harder, more broken weeks of my life, for more reasons than I care to lay out here. But. It is getting better.
And we just had the first real summer-type rainstorm. Fast and windy and hard. And timed perfectly with the placement of the sun so as to make one of those rainbows Starrhill is so good at.
More soon, y’all.