People and Homework [Not That Interesting]

See, there have been people around. A lot of people. Soon, I am leaving to see more people. As usual, I am exhausted. The best decision we made this month was not to further treatments. Which will probably bleed into next month (that was a bit of a pun).

Beginning with AM, whose lovely husband R left the country for awhile. I was able to visit her on two consecutive weekends and hang out with little E (who was missing daddy terribly). It is wonderful to be in a safe place with a person that knows you: good, bad, ugly. Who just listens, commiserates, and trusts you with her own concerns. The people that know everything about you, don't judge and don't say the wrong thing (and even if they do, you know that they don't mean it in a hurtful way at all) - these persons are easy to be around and allow you to let your guard down and relax. It was good for me and I hope it was good for her. I love you, AM, and can't wait to see you again.

Last weekend we came home and got some stuff accomplished while waiting for ADoll. Got to eat with her because C is amazing in the kitchen and whipped up dinner. We headed to the airport so that ADoll could go home and the hail was brief, but quite frightening. This weather in Tornado Alley has been crazier than normal (tornado hit my hometown). We had (sort of) hoped for a long, slow-motion run to the plane for ADoll, but it was not to be. It was really nice to see her though! Just realized that no pictures exist to prove that we are friends - when can we remedy that?

My boy, S, arrived Tuesday evening (another trip to the airport). Have I mentioned that I haven't seen the boy in a year? And that a year ago I didn't even get to say goodbye because he had a week to pack up and leave for his awesome new job? Anyway, lots of catching up to be had. We ended up at sister B's restaurant on the patio. For those of you that know, patios in this area are great places to sit, hang out, talk, and eat. Wasted three hours there, spent some time with B's boyfriend J. Played with fire (hey, if you put s'mores on the menu, I will order them if they come with fire). Arrived home and tried to watch Boondock Saints and I didn't make it very far. Pictures the next morning (check out facebook) and back to the airport. No tears. Love S and can't wait to see him at the game in September.

Brother J and his friend B showed up Thursday night (making Wednesday night the only night I went to bed early) and there was laughter. Mom was in town Thursday and Friday for a conference and we did lunch, dinner and breakfast from Friday to Saturday. Otherwise, I've been doing homework (actually, I should be doing homework right now instead of blogging, especially since I turned down tubing at the lake for homework time). Lots and lots of homework. That has to be finished and turned in before Wednesday when I leave for FL. Back to it.

Sketching it Out

I think I was right. Those pills were both magical and damning. Already this month I have been consistently nice. I have been sweet and sincere with the husband. That's a big deal for me. I'm also finding the line between who I am during any normal period of time and who I am when the pills f*** with me. I love them; I hate them, it's an age old story. I also realize that if we push much farther into treatments, the hormone swing will get far worse. But, you see, I am not focusing on that. I am trying to fall in love with this month where I don't count cycle days, don't force sex on the husband, and don't begrudge others their glowing pregnancies and beautiful babies. As I struggle to overcome another disappointment, I feel myself getting stronger. At least temporarily and in the what-does-not-kill-us-only-makes-us-stronger type way. So, am I putting myself at risk?

Next Tuesday, while I am supposed to be in comic book class, I will be laughing my butt off with an old dear friend. So I owe a professor an eight page paper. Not a problem, I write papers in my dreams . . . except he said I could be creative instead. That is a challenge. I want to write a graphic novel about loss/infertility/control issues/trying too damn hard/etc. AM offered to do the illustrations, or as they call it in the business, artwork. I will probably only turn in four or five pages and I need a focus. What do I narrow it down too? Infertility in general? My journey? Loss? I'm tempted to go the loss route because it has a beginning, middle, and unfortunately, an end. But, perhaps I don't want to stew in that right now? There is a funny side to infertility, but it's been done and I don't buy into that at all (i.e. if you hear me make an infertile/barren joke, I AM putting myself DOWN and am either completely uncomfortable in the situation or with the topic - get me out of there). The point is that, unless you have been on the infertility journey or inadvertently hopped aboard the loss boat, you don't know. You won't know and I don't want you to know, but I want you to be able to deal with it (and me and others) kindly and empathetically. I want you to be aware. So awareness is the key. I think I can do this and stay sane. Mostly. It might be something I'm proud of, who knows?

Ambiguous Tandem Goo

First of all (and it has been weighing on my mind), I do need to decide how to have a real, true break from this stuff. Obviously, I won't be at the Target Pharmacy getting a prescription for the semi-magical pills filled. Does this mean no day counting? No scheduled sex? No freaking out when the cycle has reached its logical conclusion? No infertility blogs? No success stories? Cut off from pregnancy and baby pictures? Probably all of the above, but I can't promise. I was doing so well with all of that, or I thought I was, and now, I just crumble into a wet ball of mush at anything. A damn country song for example.

The earrings are all the way through with some pain and some goo. They'll heal fine and I'm just glad there was not a blow out because those are painful and very counterproductive. Only one person has even noticed that I have clear spikes in my ears and it was not my husband. He might be pissed, I don't know. I plan on stopping at this point because realistically, if I stretch up every negative cycle, I'll have one inch holes in my ears before I'm done. Whenever pregnancy starts to work for us.

In my comic class, where I recently gave a presentation sans PowerPoint, thanks to the program not working correctly, I had to do said presentation over a graphic novel of my choosing. I don't care for many of them and finally figured out that the aesthetic was what had to grab you. The words are important, or sometimes not so much, but the pictures have to be somewhat attractive to you so that you want to take them in. I did the Flight Volume One anthology with 21 different creators and it rocked. I love when someone takes a concept and leaves it open to interpretation. One of the artists, Vera Brosgol, had a piece that someone had loved so much that they had made it into a short film. More than that, I fell in love with Vera's art, then promptly bought some. You might not care for it, but it says something to me.

That said, I'm getting closer to okay, but there was a meltdown in there somewhere and it rearranged things so that I can't find everything that used to be in my mind. It all might come flooding back to me one of these days, but part of me wishes that it wouldn't. I feel like I have to choose whether to live inside or outside of my mind. Living outside would make me a nicer person and on the surface would be far simpler for me, but it would be like gutting myself and leaving the inside parts to rot. If I lived inside my mind, I would be (at the very least) obsessed and consumed and nearing catatonic. But I would feel remotely safe. There must be a bizarre balance that needs to be struck. Let me know the secret once you all have discovered it. At this very moment, the spacial time, order, and sensations are a bit off and things don't seem square, round, or any other shape. It is all gelatinous and ambiguous and they are lucky if I pretend to pay attention. Weird.

Possible Ouch

This is what happens when you stop crying, calm down, and decide to take action.

I had a plan and now that plan is out the window. Here is the new plan.

Avert Your Eyes

Fuck. FUCK! And FUCKING is NOT helping, nor is it the solution.

FUCK!

Crap, that looks way too much like the word DUCK. And I don't mean duck. Stupid feathery bird.

Two fucking years. Seven grand. Dead baby. No baby.
More money. More pain. More tears. More crap.

Shit. Damn.

And how do you shut the thoughts out that threaten to cripple you? To drown you? How do you tell hope and pain to fuck off?

I love who and what I love and I will protect them with every piece of myself and my resources, but I hate what I hate with more passion than you can imagine.

Forget it. Just forget it. That's what I do with the other twenty-three hours of my day.