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.