My body doesn’t recover as well as it once did, and I dare say, is degenerating noticeably, but my spiritual and emotional self becomes more capable with time.
Maybe death is the letting go of the need for a body and moving all energy into consciousness.
The last couple months are the ones were it finally happened. That knowing of death in the less and less distant future. Gone are the days that although I KNOW no one lives forever, it still doesn’t feel real that I might cease to exist.
So what am I doing?
How am I spending my time?
What is important?
On this day:
There’s a certain way that I have sex with men. A way that is fluently expressed through my body, like it’s own language. Often, the men I have sex with converse in this language. Sometimes, I have sex with someone who is speaking a language I don’t know at all, or have heard in passing, or as a few whispers in my ear. In these times, I’m ignorant as to how to express, and respond, and communicate.
It’s an interesting thing.
At first, I try to respond in my native tongue and that just jumbles things up.
Then I remember to just take it in. Listen to it and observe it.
Then, give this new language a try.
It can take a long time to learn a new language
… with waking up this morning, after 3 weeks of sickness, feeling MORE sick than I felt in the previous days.
- sleep till 10am
- shuffle downstairs, get on the sofa, drink coffee, moan
- cry a little but not very much because it clogs up my sinuses
- eat half a grapefruit
- exhausted from all that living, take a one hour nap
- abandon all hope of making that lasagna I have all the ingredients for
- drive to run an errand, get honked at for something or other, stay in the car while Shawn runs the errand, drive home – total time out, 20 minutes, obviously I need to rest
- rest for about an hour
- go take a shower – we have an event at our home tonight after all – get clean, then turn up the heat to one degree less than scalding, crouch down and let the hot sting rain down on my back
- intently examine how the water mists onto my hair and collects on my bangs and drips down in front of my eyes in a predictable rhythm
- turn off the water and pull myself out over the edge of the tub, crawl over to the toilet and perch atop it
- turn on my hair dryer and point it at my head – eventually it will be dry – whatever it ends up looking like, we’ll just say I’m daring
- get dressed in leggings and a giant oversized hoodie that is pretty much a snuggie
- go make a beet salad
- eat some chilli
- realizing our event starts in 5 minutes, go hide away in bed with the door closed and a cup of rummy egg nog, and decide it’s for everyone’s best interest that I socialize exactly zero amount.
And here we are.
On this day:
I don’t even know what’s up with me.
It’s not like I’ve never had unprotected sex before. But then, I always knew it was happening and was taking that risk with full informed consent.
Now I’m having this weird crisis where on the one hand I feel like my body is actually full of gross disease and that nobody should want to be with me and I don’t blame them so I’m just having a bunch of self pity.
On the other hand, it’s actually not the hugest deal. The chance that I got anything is pretty low and I can just use barriers like I normally would until the results come back.
It just feels like there is a thing. There is something blocking me. I mean, it could be the fact that it has been a week since I’ve had an orgasm, anytime I get close now I just cry.
Because obviously my desire for orgasms is what led me to have sex with an unsafe person and so CLEARLY this slut shaming message is ingrained in me to some extent.
And it’s one thing to know that things are ok and it’s not the end of the world, even if I have an STI now, but like, I FEEL FUCKING TERRIBLE.
I feel sexual and I feel desirous but I also don’t want to inflict my obviously vile self on anybody.
My internal dialogue on this is so fucked up.
I really need to be made loved with.
Not so many administrations ago, “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” and “Dirty Dancing” and a handful of other films dared to deal with abortion, off-camera and usually a little off the main plotline, as a medical option chosen by a sympathetic young woman dictated by the machinations of the screenplay, usually with the help of sperm donated by a dislikable supporting character.
Then, gradually and then almost entirely, nobody on screen had them anymore. “Juno,” “Knocked Up” and so many others took a pregnancy to term without many second thoughts, ushering in a narrower set of options. Few, if any, films of any size risked losing half or more of its collective audience (the divides falling along political rather than gender lines) by treating a woman’s right to choose as an acceptable storytelling decision.
In the last couple of decades, we’ve seen more portrayals of audience-friendly serial killers on TV and in the movies than we have of major female characters who terminate an unwanted pregnancy without being overtly punished or covertly marginalized (the gynecological history of Sandra Oh’s character on “Grey’s Anatomy” notwithstanding).
When I saw that this was playing at an independent theatre I could get to without driving, on a day that I didn’t have the kids and no other plans I shouted LET ME GIVE YOU ALL MY MONEY because really now. Abortions are a fact of life for many women/people with ovaries and a uterus and goodness I love a film that makes one reflect upon the human experience and you know, I guess most movies just forget that women are humans.
ANYWAY… Robyn and I went to see the movie and some things I read about it is that it is a comedy but it’s not really all that funny (but I am not the hugest comedy fan since I find so much of it to be oppressive – oh how I love accidental injury comedy though) and it even isn’t THAT compelling of a story. It’s basically just a regular life story of a woman who has an abortion for reasons. Her reasons. And that was great. Oh can I give that movie all my money again? Ok, ok I will!
The part that I liked the most was the scene where the lead character has just had an abortion and is chilling in the recovery room with all these other women who are there for the same thing. I had both of my abortions in a hospital setting and it’s done on a specific day of the week so all the abortions for that week happen on that day and everyone is there for the same thing but everyone is just kind of quiet.
It’s a kind of silent solidarity. A reverent moment. A safe space.
On this day:
In 2009 – the games bus drivers play
In 2007 – 6 years of no dentist = lots of work on my teeth
In 2006 – My recap and thoughts on my marriage preparation class as provided by The Roman Catholic Church
In 2005 – A photo of me eating a hotdog
It has been over a year and a half since I stopped nursing Molly. I don’t remember exactly when it was. It was sometime near to her 2nd birthday. Anyway my question is this: When will I stop lactating? You don’t actually need to answer that. Probably never.
The other day I had a random letdown and my shirt got wet. WTF is this Body? I think you are very confused.
Also, telling THE ENTIRE INTERNET about my bodily functions NEVER EVER gets old. Never.
On this day:
In 2009 – this was a good time. I really enjoyed going to the gym and at first I would alternate between weight training and cardio but then I just did only wight training and it was super amazing until I started getting morning sickness with The Fetus That Became Molly *also note that I use language in this post that I no longer deem appropriate to use – I’ve grown*
In 2006 – OMG this is the origin story of my Color Me Badd vinyl! Also this line was amazing “So anyways, I haven’t had hot chocolate in a LOOONG time because whenever I get into drinking it regularly, my pants stop fitting me.”
The kitchen is messy – this is the worst.
My book got wet – this is the worst.
The kids are whiny – this is the worst.
blah blah blah
I feel like PMS makes me ultra sensitive to things I already feel and it’s actually a great opportunity to take action. Sometimes what it brings out are giant huge problems like this marriage just isn’t right for you and sometimes it brings out things like we need to have some talks about everyone’s role in home-cleanliness.
Yesterday it was Tiana, Molly and Bobby are not the same and you need to figure that shit out to show these kids how to happily deal with the world. I needed that, and had just the perfect reminder-chat about how to go about it and so I’m grateful to the people in my life who offer their opinions and insights and I’m grateful to my hormones for making me hyper-sensitive at just the right moment.
On this day: