Without beginning or end

Sometimes it hits me unexpectedly. Like the other night when we were watching "The Office." We were laughing and I glanced over at Ivan's profile and thought, "We made a baby. We were going to have a baby." And then I crumple.

I really have to psych myself up to be around groups of people; sometimes I fail. I live in mortal fear of someone asking me about the miscarriage when I am not expecting it--when I am talking or smiling. It happened this weekend and, though I felt like I handled it okay, my anxiety returned full-force and I was on guard the rest of the afternoon.

I also have a great deal of trouble when friends write to ask how I am. I appreciate their concern. I have every intention of responding. I sit for long periods of time and try to think of how to answer. All I can come up with is, "Well, my baby's still dead and somewhere in my head I am constantly screaming. How are you?" I just don't know what else to say. I really don't.

A couple of folks have used this opportunity to deliver a little speech about what should be happening in my life when and if we decide to try to conceive again. Please spare me your lectures. I will try again when I am good and ready regardless of whether you think it is the right time for me.

An open letter to Glad, maker of 13 gallon tall draw-string kitchen trash bags

Dear Glad,

I am writing to express my enjoyment of this product.

Lately my partner has been into making his own falafel, and thus we have been going through an increased amount of cooking oil. I confess that am I rather ignorant of what to do with this oil once we are finished, and I feel certain there is probably something more ecologically responsible I should be doing other than dumping it into the trash once it has cooled. I was just trying to avoid pouring it down the sink and clogging up the works.

After this week's falafel endeavors, I sighed with dread when I imagined the mess that would quite possibly be awaiting me when I pulled the oil-filled trash bag out of the plastic can. I was thrilled to be wrong. I was even more pleased after the trash bag was drug across the living room floor and thoroughly stepped on by my step-son and there was still not a leak in sight.

Not too many things are going right at present, but it is nice to know I can count on my trash bags during these trying times. I have been purchasing this brand for years; I will continue to do so in the future with pleasure.

Sincerely,

Amie
A satisfied customer in San Francisco

I'm wide awake; it's morning

This morning while having my coffee and flipping through the TV channels, I became intrigued by the speaking style of female television minister Joyce Meyer. She has sort of a gruff, dykey, folksy, no-nosense kind of style--it's fascinating. Having just done my taxes last night, I was willing to listen. I was sort of rooting for her to convince me until she said this:

"You can't dwell every day on the sins you committed in the past. Jesus took them. You say, 'Oh, Lord, but when I was young I had that abortion.' Well, one day you'll meet that little baby in heaven and have good times together."

The peas for a second

I: Can we talk about the peas for a second? The ones we're having for dinner? With the chicken and mashies? The frozen peas? Let's actually cook that shit. Not microwave shit. Like, I'm talking BOILING. I'll be in charge of that.

For Beth R-C

I had just read your message on my phone while sitting outside. I sat back to think about how I would respond to you when I heard a flute being practiced from a nearby open window. This was an extreme beginner--his or her embouchure has a long way to go. I could hear the breathy shrills forced out of the instrument as the player strove for those upper register notes. I wondered wistfully what happened to my flute and thought vaguely about looking for a second-hand one to play around with. Then I had a random memory that I thought you would appreciate.

It was summer 1991--my freshman year of band camp. I was excited to be there, eager to please, and immensely terrified around everyone older than me. (And so titillated by the drumline! Mark A., Eli, Jeff P., Jeff B....) Mr. Christian assigned everyone to have "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" memorized by a specific date, and asked the section leaders to make sure this happened.

The afternoon before the memorization was supposed to occur, Jodie R. (with you as her assistant, I believe!) let us slide by having us flutes and piccolos play it together as a group rather than to go through the mortifying experience of playing it solo, one-by-one. I was so relieved, but somehow not moved to go home and practice.

The next afternoon while practicing our half-time show, Mr. Christian decided to test out the new, allegedly memorized "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." We stood in formation at the end of "El Tigre" and Christelle start counted us off. Andy W.'s trumpet solo was excellent and the drummers played well; most everyone else in the band faked the song and snuck covert looks at one another. I felt so guilty for not learning it, and prayed no one would notice ME above everyone else. Above the noise of the drumline directly behind me at the 50 yard line, the captain Stephen H. screamed at the other drummers, "CAN ANYBODY HEAR THE GODDAMNED BAND!?"

I froze in terror, my fingers still arched in position to play a random b-flat. They knew I didn't know the song! The entire drumline, 75% of whom I had a crush on, KNEW I WAS FAKING "BOOGIE WOOGIE BUGLE BOY"! FROM COMPANY C!

That night, I took home my sheet music and piccolo and learned the entire song. By bedtime I was playing it with gusto and relishing the trills. Mr. Christian cast the song aside in frustration, but I knew the song! Sometimes when I am anxious, I still flex through the fingerings in my mind.

I swear I could still play it if I picked up a flute.

Advice

This morning when being teased, 5 year old Darius told his father, "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all!"

Me, I'm the cranky one.

Warning: Complaining and ranting below

I read a tweet awhile back that was something along the lines of "Facebook has made me hate all the people I know, and Twitter has made me like a lot of people I don't know." I can really relate to this. Some days I can't stand Facebook.

It's hard enough right now to log in and read other people's pregnancy news and see their pictures, but I suppose that comes with the territory as I want to keep up with my friends' lives. However, I am so fed up with the touchy-feely, pre-fabricated messages that people post and want me to post. I have two deceased grandmothers that I love dearly and think about all the time. If there is indeed a heaven, these two ladies are in it. But this status update that has been recently appearing was so annoying to me:

Repost this if you have a Grandma in Heaven...If roses grow in heaven, Lord, then pick a bunch for me. Place them in my Grandma's arms and tell her they're from me. Tell her that I love and miss her, and when she turns to smile, place a kiss on her cheek and hold her for awhile! ♥

Barf, barf, barf.

Recently, and for reasons I will not go into, I came into possession of a pair of white leggings. They're hideous. At first I vowed to throw them in the trash. Then I decided that they are comfortable and that I will only wear them in the house and make Ivan look at them. I posted something about it on a status update:

If white leggings with lace-trimmed ankle cuffs aren't white trash, I don't know what is. I'm only an airbrushed kitten sweatshirt and a side ponytail away from my 12 year old self.

A few people commented on the white trash outfit theme, but a relative of mine took this opportunity to say some pretty hideous things about fat people and how they "burn [her] eyes." I was annoyed. I ignored it the first time she posted it, but a few hours later she followed up with an even worse comment that made me angry and I deleted them both. I appreciate snark and bitchiness as much as the next girl, but those comments to me were just hateful. I don't want to read it, and I certainly don't want it on my page.

And then there is the God stuff.

I consider myself to be somewhere in the realm of Agnostic. People can believe whatever they choose and that is fine with me. Some days I think maybe there's something to all this, and some days I don't. But every single day folks on Facebook command me to pray for something or someone. I wish they would not assume that I deal with the uncertain, unknown, and unpredictable in the same ways that they do. What irritates me even worse is those (including members of my own family) who put God in every. single. status. update. One relative wrote, "Going to take a walk. I hope He is with me to keep me safe!" I want to reassure them that He is indeed with them while taking that walk. I'm sure he is also with them while they wipe their ass, jerk off, and pick their nose, and I hope they take comfort in that companionship as well.

I really love the folks who use their status updates passive aggressively. To teach others a lesson. To show others how stoic they are in the face of all the indignities that other people put upon them. One girl I know from high school specializes in this status update art form, in particular. Here are some examples:

Why do I even bother?!? Some people are just gonna be "jerk offs" b/c they can!! :) I hope I'm still around to see them get theirs - just sayin'....

brought out her spoon and gave it a quick polish before starting the stirring process! Let the games begin!! :)

My Heart is broken (surprise)! I'm having trouble sleeping for the conversation that My Daughter and I had before she went to bed this evening! NO child at ANY age should have to feel the way she does, but especially NOT at 5!! My Heart bleeds for her!! :(

Ding - Ding, round 2! Gettin' in the shower to get ready to hit up the town again!! Who says what's Good for the Goose isn't Good for the Gander?!? Hmmm..... :)

I read these out loud to Ivan and we laugh and laugh.

-end of rant-

Let them eat cake.

I (while pouring me yet another glass of wine): I'm such a...what's the word? Co-facilitator?

A: Enabler.

I: Yeah.

"There is no sign of land..."

A couple of decent days followed by a couple of shitty days. I guess this is how things are going to go.

The day has come.

I have long feared the day when my female parent arrived on Facebook, and the day is here--she has been threatening to do it for years. She doesn't quite know how it works yet. Like me, my mother is a big fan of melodrama. She is also of the opinion that public proclamations are more meaningful than private ones.

These things make for a bad combination.

I logged in this morning to find that she'd attempted to send a friend request to my partner, except it was another Ivan with the same last name that she'd settled on. On her wall, she wrote this Ivan a dramatic and heartfelt message:

I so hope you love my daughter. I love her more than breath. She may never now the depth of my love for her, but she lives so far away. since both my parents r gone, i only have my children n idont think they know how much they mean to me. Maybe you can make her understand that

So embarrassing!

Yesterday was a better day.

The sun was shining and the sky was blue.
We listened to a lot of Wham! at my urging.
I received a beautiful card and picture from my dear friend Becky and her daughter Amiya.
I shaved my legs for the first time in, oh...maybe it's better I don't tell you how long.
I worked on wading through the emails I've gotten from friends and loved ones in order to respond to them.
I even felt like talking some shit on Facebook.
I made a nice dinner.
I got some sleep.
Today is TBD, but I am out of bed drinking coffee and feeding parrots their treats.