Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Question for the Philly Girls


M. and I are heading to downtown Philadelphia this weekend to celebrate my birthday and see a show at the Trocadero. We'll be staying nearby (as in, within walking distance of the Troc.) The Monk's Cafe is our usual go to spot when we're in this part of the world and I'm hoping that does make it into our plans, but where else should we go to eat, drink, try to be merry?

And yes, we are totally up for company if anyone wants to join us for some adult beverages on Saturday night.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

In the Weeds

If I were waiting tables today instead of swimming through policy and legislation and databases and to do lists filled with emails to draft and people to call, I would take a moment, just a moment, and shout:


And all of my waitress pals would drop what they were doing or the gossip they were spouting near the soda machine and come to my aid if they could. Help me clear my tables. Run dinners out to my tables before it got cold. Basically, help me get my shit together and let me return to normalcy.

Well, um, at least in theory (and in my still-recurring waitress dreams (really? WTF)) that's what happens. And in some places, it did. In other places, your weeds were the least of the other girls' problems. They had weeds of their own.

Now, you could see being in the weeds a matter of poor time management, general slacker-ness, an inability to handle yo' bidness. And yes, ok, fine. In some instances, that is the case. The weeds would definitely creep up on you faster after an all-nighter, or too much fun or simply too many double shifts attempted in one week (git that money).

But other times, it just happens. Shit happens. An 8-top gets seated the same time your meal for 4 AND your flaming dessert for the couple in the corner is ready to go. The credit card machine busts its gut right as the impatient family wants to leave before their kids start to cry and yes, as soon as another 8-top gets seated.

Being in the weeds isn't necessarily bad. It means you've got a full section and hell, that means odds of you walking home with coin just got that much better. Sometimes, it's actually fun - just how many plates can I balance on this arm without them falling, running into another server or getting yelled at by the boss? How many hours can I deprive myself of sleep and still function on the floor? Just how many bus boys can I piss off by leaving my empty plates out and requiring them to, you know, do their job?

BTW, the sum of the latter will always be higher than the previous two stats combined. Bus boys, for the most part, are bitches.

Being in the weeds isn't bad. But it is always overwhelming.

All of this to say, dudes, I am in the weeeeeeeds.

Work is kicking my ass and depriving me of time to play my (borrowed) bass, blog, comment, you know, give you all of the mundane minutae of my life. I kid. But seriously, it's kind of bumming me out. I want to show you pics of the girls' trees and of my tiny balcony garden and of me kayaking this weekend (ahhhhhh) and tell you about the great day I had with S. and baby C. and most importantly, let you know that after a rocky, rocky week, our weekend was actually very nice. Some tears on Sunday night (damn, you No. # 1 Lady Detective Agency and your baby grave at the end of the show) but they were more like quiet remembrance, not full on freak out.

But I can't because every time I think about uploading things from the camera, or spending some dedicated time telling y'all how much I dig you (because I do) everything else that I should be doing goes rushing through my brain so fast I can't think straight. That's what being in the weeds is like for me now - not a physical, sweat-inducing overload, more like a my head is so full I need to shake it out and start over. I couldn't even give you a table to clear or food to bring out if I wanted to. I can't ask for help because I don't know where to start. (and, in most cases, if I were to ask for help now, my boss would require that I write up a "project scope" and a full set of instructions or worse yet, "Procedures" and fuck, after all that I might as well have just done the damn this myself.

BTW, as you can see, I've recently given myself permission to swear more freely on my blog. And fuck. Yes. It feels good. Kind of like taking your bra off at the end of the day. Ahhhhh. Fuck yeah.

ALL of this to say, I'm here. I'm ok. Much better thanks. But I DO wish I had a kitchen full of bitchy cooks and a dining room full of hungry diners (and tippers) to deal with right now instead of the things that are currently on my plate.

Because if I were waiting tables, my pal S. would have a 40 waiting for me at the apartment for the end of my shift. And we would shed our stinky, crusty old-bay-scented clothes, dump our aprons on the beds, stuff some of the dollars away and stick as many quarters in our pockets as they would hold (ok, maybe just me. I like arcades, ok?), dress in something completely ridiculous (this might have been my layering phase) and run off to the boardwalk and the pier looking for trouble. And we would find it. And the weeds would be forgotten. At least until tomorrow.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Spring Sucks Ass

How DARE everyone be so fucking happy and cheery. I want to kick your stroller. And your dog. What nerve of the sun to shine NOW, after leaving us wallowing in darkness for months? I needed you weeks ago, not now. The cherry blossoms aren't making me smile. They make me want to weep because they remind me of the trees we planted for my dead girls. My husband broke down into sobs last night for no reason. Yet somehow all you fucking happy people are busy getting giddy over the weather. Fuck you.

And while I'm at it.

Fuck my dirty apartment and the fact it is making me crazy fuck the pile of work in front on me and my filthy kitchen and the fact I can't decide which matter is more pressing fuck the weight on my husband's shoulders which a massage unknowingly dislodged and fuck the raw pain and sadness that was unearthed fuck the sweatpants I still haven't changed out of fuck my still-flabby gut with a hollow inside. Fuck the words I don't have to make M. better. Just fuck it.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Stop the Tape!

Have you ever had one of those nights where you wake up in the middle of the night and start obsessing about a particular period in your life? Not even talking about anything TTC, pregnancy or loss-related moment. Not just a moment, or an event, or a definable thing that you wish you could take back or do over. More like an entire phase that you reflect upon and think, "oh my gosh, I'm pretty sure I was an asshole" for a pretty extended period of time.

That happened to me last night.

Over a decade ago, I lived and worked in an Eastern European country for just shy of two years. Yes, it turned out to be the place where I met M. as he was traveling through and from that moment on, the rest of the story is history and a good one. Those are the points in time I LIKE to dwell on. Remember. Reminisce. But before my scruffy knight in shining Gap cargo pants came along, there was a different period. Filled with all kinds of characters. Some I still know and love (very much), some I wish I had never, ever EVER met and many that I simply wish knew me now instead of having the (dis?)pleasure of knowing the 22-year old me. I'm really not sure I would be that fond (or even tolerant) of the 22 year old me.

Sure, there were parts that could have been charming, perhaps even fun. I'm fairly certain that I was fun on several occasions. But here are the things I realized in technicolor last night:
  1. I was a pretty sucky friend. There could be some exceptions to this, but I think this is a fair statement.
  2. I was definitely a sucky ESL teacher, and employee in general. I can try to blame some things on language and cultural differences here, but that only goes so far. Showing up late for your own class? That's not cool in any language.
  3. I was needy (which, explains much of #1)
  4. I didn't think I was needy, which makes it worse. I fancied myself independent, world-weary, street-smart. Ha. I crack me up.
  5. Most of my actions, reactions and decisions in general make me wince when I think about them now. And those are only the ones I can remember. And I'm not too interested in digging back farther than that. At least not this morning.
Of course, now that it's morning and I am dressed and performing pretty proficiently in a job that I do well, surrounded by people that have NO CLUE about the person I was (thankfully) on another continent, I think I probably wasted a good night's sleep for nothing. That this is no big deal. That of course, the 34 me is not exactly the 22 me and if we all had flawless lives with no wince-able moments, well, wouldn't that just be grand. But last night, in the dark, I couldn't stop the tape from playing, couldn't stop the replays, couldn't NOT look at the train wreck that was my life.

Not looking for you to tell me I'm being too hard on myself, or surely it wasn't that bad. No. Sorry. I think I could probably amass some very tangible evidence to prove otherwise. Before even calling witnesses to the stand. What I needed was to just get that out, so I can stop obsessing and more forward writing the things I am supposed to be writing instead of an indulgent blog post. I am wondering is if any of you, dear readers, have found yourself in this situation - of looking back and wincing but not being able to not look?

No need to divulge details, just tell me I am not the only one.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Well There You Have It

From my doorstep to Iso.bel and Jo.vita's cherry trees is EXACTLY 5K. Along the river. Almost flat the whole way.

Looks like I have a training route. And it looks like my decision is closer to being made.


So there I was, stomping to Iggy Pop on the stairmaster this morning, thinking about Will and his towel-covered elliptical, reminding myself of chicklet's encouragement, trying to figure out why the heck nutmeg96 was in my dream last night and more importantly, why was she soothing me like a baby (for the record, it worked), and maybe, just maybe I was feeling a little sorry for myself.

I was trying to battle down a headache I woke up with and I chose stairmaster over elliptical this morning because I can actually feel heat rising off me and I wasn't up for generating much more. Yes, folks, you see, without the watchful care of BCPs, all the joys of menopause come hang out with me. I was stomping away, thinking about my body, Isa and Jovi, contemplating a blog post but wondering what it could be about besides woe is me...

And this guy (older gentleman) walks up and stands next to my machine. I pull out my earplugs and look at him kind of quizzically and he says,

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to interrupt your personal space. But you work so hard here. And I think you should go out and celebrate it."

And then he hands me not one, but 2 flyers for upcoming 5K fun runs/walks. One on May 2. One May 16.

"Think about it. At least 30% of the folks actually walk. It's not so much for the race, it's more for in here" And he points to his head.

And the paranoid me is thinking OMG was I just crying just then?? OMG does he know about us?? Did somebody tell him??? OMG Do I look like that much of a basket case??

And somehow I managed to say, "Thank you! Thanks very much." And take it for the compliment I think it was meant as.

So now I'm thinking, well, shit, I was just wondering if my tibia was sufficiently healed and talking with M. about getting back outside to run again...but could I do 5K?? Sure, it's not that far and I could always shift down to a walk. It isn't really a race, well it wouldn't be for the likes of me. But could I?

Kind of feels like now or never. Since a true flow never came this month, I'm waiting for lab slips to get faxed over to me. Bloodwork comes next. After that, another hysteroscopy and then I am sure a request for another BCP-assisted cycle, and that would bring us up until around the end of May, at least, before we think about an FET.

So I'm thinking about it. But mostly thinking, well, why the hell not?

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Ball of Frustration

I try. I really, REALLY try not to get down on my body. to hate on it. to show it anything but love. Sure, it's lumpy in places I wish it weren't and has been through a few ups and downs, but it's all I got. And I try to remember that. And I KNOW getting angry at it isn't going to change/fix/resolve/make things any better. But dammit. WTF? I mean really. WTF?
  • 11 days after stopping estrogen and provera. Still no deluge. Where is the period to end all periods? Where is this flood of built up (healthy) uterine lining that will wash away all that was yucky and let us start anew? Huh? Where. Are. You?
This is so damn puzzling. My body has an excellent track record with drugs. Um, er, yes. I just said that. What I mean is, you give it something meant to cause a reaction and it responds. Without fail. So why the obstinance now? And before you get all excited and speculate: No. I am not pregnant. How do I know? Because I peed on a damn stick last night. Not because we were hoping for a miracle birth, more like I wanted to enjoy my glass of wine without guilt. Remember: surgical clamps do not ovulate.
  • After 2 1/2 weeks of some steady gym intake, what is my weight? Exactly the same as when I started. Are my clothes fitting better? Um, no. But do I feel better about myself? Sure. But I would feel far better if I had something, anything tangible to show for my early mornings and sweat. And I do sweat. I am not one of those gals who takes a book along to read while on the treadmill. My thought is, if you can see straight, you're not working hard enough. Insult to injury: I do believe I am still sporting a post-birth body that seems reluctant to leave. As in, were my hips always that wide? My ass that flat?? Well shit.
Beyond frustrated this morning and M. can sense it and is trying his best to lighten my mood. I KNOW that this doesn't help. Won't help me get through my day. But if I don't address it, it will only get worse. I skipped the gym this morning but I'm working from home today so thinking I will take an extended break this afternoon. My goal is to find some moments to meditate this morning as well - but I don't do terribly well with sitting still.

So, the plan is: I am waiting until 14 fulls days past the last day of provera. If still no flow, we'll do some blood work to check all hormone levels. If it magically appears, we schedule a follow up hysteroscopy to check out the ute., have one more cycle with the help of bcps and then schedule a FET.

I understand that we have nothing but time. That its not a race. That any chances of dodging "advanced maternal age" are now out the window. I just wince at the thought that my body is worse off now than when we started. That the things we had going for us in the beginning cannot be relied upon now. I hate it. I absolutely hate it.

And I cannot believe I am now one of those people obsessed with bodily functions and fluids. (laughing at all poo jokes totally does not count).