Oh my God. Hormones blow. One minute I feel like Oprah, running around in sweater sets and laughing like I think Jesus would have laughed. The next minute I’m laying in a pool of my own tears, wondering when my life will stop looking like a bad episode of Hoarders, Intervention and My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding all rolled into one. If I was allowed to have as much drugs, rhinestones and as many cats and dogs as I wanted, you would definitely see me on A&E here pretty soon.
No news on the baby front. Every month around this time of my cycle I start thinking that I never want kids. That I want to flush my fertility drugs down the toilet and burn my basal thermometer and my ovulation predictor kits and the pregnancy tests I’ll never need and every stupid baby blanket I made for myself when I thought this was going to be easy. I feel like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum because I can’t eat the candy in the grocery store. Because, NO, damn it, I want it NOW.
So that’s basically where I’m at right now. When I was younger, this is the point where I’d start binge drinking and crying in the shower. But because my fertility drugs can’t be mixed with alcohol and my shower is so small that my ass barley fits when I sit down, I’m stuck here on the couch. With a farting dog who I’m pretty sure laughs at me when I start crying.
I spent a GOOD amount of time crying today, and yelling at everyone who tried to talk to me about it. I decided to turn on Steel Magnolias. Uhh.. bad idea? Probably. But you know what? I needed a good cry. I cried for at least an hour straight. I cried harder than I’ve cried since my grandma died. It felt amazing. Then, at the end, when Annelle goes into labor, I just thought to myself what everyone has been telling me. I am going to get pregnant again, and I am going to have a family. And it’s ok if it doesn’t happen right now. Because you know what? I am the luckiest girl in the world. I’ve got amazing friends and family and doctors and I’m going to be just fine. Louie always told me to “fake it till you make it” whenever I got sad about things. I used to think he was full of shit and just being an insensitive asshole, but I think he might be onto something. After that, I got my ass off the couch and made dinner for my dad and took a long bath and read more Faulkner and now I finally have the motivation to write.
On an entirely different note, I’ve been cooking up a storm over here. Every night something new. My mom, sister and aunt are in Michigan at the Hemingway convention giving out a travel scholarship. It sounds like it would be right up my alley, but when it came down to it… it just wasn’t practical for me. I find it hard to travel with anyone but Louie. Mostly because I didn’t want to bring them down, and Louie has already followed me into the dark and he’s trapped down here with me. They’ve been kayaking and biking and hiking and doing all sorts of things that I would find stressful. There is not enough Xanax in the world to get me into a kayak. So they are there, and I am here being Betty Crocker. Here is just a sample of the things I’ve been cooking.
Most of the time I try to cook healthy, because my dad is recovering from freaking cancer and my ass is starting to outgrow the rest of my body. Plus when I spend a lot of time cooking anything I am so much less inclined to eat it. It’s like, by the time I actually get it on the plate the thought of eating it makes me want to barf. Yum!
On a second entirely different note, I’d like to geek out for like 2.5 seconds. I am SO deeply madly in love with Faulkner’s writing I can’t even stand it. I find it challenging and interesting and incredibly moving. Of all of the novels and short stories I have read (which is a ridiculous amount at this point) I think he’s tied with Carver for my number one spot right now.
On a third aside, I’d like to say, that I am taking back SOME of my seriously bitchy criticism of the 50 Shades of Sex.. I mean, Grey series. Mostly because I think romantic literature has its time and place and I’m just glad to see people reading, period. Our society is becoming a bunch of illiterate fucks and something is better than nothing. So read on guys! I bought my first romantic novel (which happens to NOT be 50 Shades, because thinking about reading a novel that is going to make me want to have sex while simultaneously knowing other people, who shall not be named because I’m not a total dick, have read the same book and thought about sex, makes me want to dig a hole in the ground and shove my face in it forever). So, I read this other super sexy book and I finished it in like, one night. It was the easiest read of my life. A fabulous break from the super difficult Faulkner and an escape to Hawaii, where I learned about a thousand new words for penis and vagina.