since saturday, my dear k has been consistently bleeding.
it blows.
how many times have i said it here on this blog? those words, that is? or something like them? it blows. it sucks. fuck it. damn. hard times. suck. etc. etc. etc.
i am trying to be all in the present about it and all that lovely bullshit, but guess what, at this point in time, i'm over it. plain and simple over scavenging for remnants of dreams that are yet to manifest into concrete flesh and blood before my eyes. the day when i feel the little being's scrawny paws upon the tender, yet sharp, curve of my collar bone--when the soft little animal unfolds in ringlets of new skin before me--until then, i will curse the wind and the rain and yell out profanities to the stars and then reel myself back into the present, this moment and take it for what it is.
and what it is is this:
people, we are so fragile and fleeting. at anytime it all could stop for you. at anytime we could be the 25 year old pga pro golf player found dead in her home on a sunday. or we could be the one to be sideswiped by an 83 year old woman who should have had her license taken away 8 years back. (and hell no I am not an ageist; i am a fucking realist).
often, i want to really be okay with all of this passing on that happens before our eyes. i want to know that we leave some kind of imprint--for good; for bad; for always. we do, and still, we do not. we are flashing. we are leaves. we are strong and green and flapping in the strongest of winds and then we fall heavily to the ground and dry up and break down into something else. hopefully, always something life-giving.
but, how do i capture that moment of waiting to know if what is (or was living inside of kk) is still alive? how can patience fortify itself in a heart that desires more than anything to know. to know what is real. to know what is next, and still to understand that we can never know what is next.
i can remember being in the 5th or 6th grade. my parents were gone out for the night and, of all things, I sat on the toilet and started to cry uncontrollably cause i realized my mama could die and not come home. i realized one day the person i cared about the most in the world could and would be gone. i cried and cried and my chest heaved with sadness.
today, that person has shifted to my kk. and now it has shifted to the two lives before my eyes. the life of my lover--the upper quadrant of my heart and this other life trying to forge a path to our world through her womb. and so when the blood is made visible and this threat of new death dangles on the edge of her being, i am paralyzed and devastated.
and now, i have nothing left to say...
Showing posts with label sucky times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sucky times. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
i lied and at least there were baby bees
k is bleeding now. now she is bleeding. it is bright red blood. it sucks. no cramping, but bleeding.
I am so fucking over all of this I can barely handle it.
What really sucks is today after work I had one of the most amazing experiences of my whole life, and k was there and she video taped it all and then we came home and had friends and neighbors on the porch and then k went to the bathroom and blood--bright red blood was all over the mini pad and a clot hung heavy on the top of the toilet water.
and i got mad and kind of turned my back.
and i am still mad.
but today, today after work we--that is my friends t and l plus me--we collected the most beautiful and enormous wild bee hive from an outbuilding one half block away from my house. It was such good work.
K taped us in action (hopefully, video cuts will one day be up on this blog).
The three of us worked so efficiently and well together. T cut the comb with wire from the eaves of the house one luscious piece at a time. L and I carried it to a tarp and cut the excess off into empty frames and then made sure the comb was held in place with rubber bands. The forefront of the wild hive was empty comb. The center of the hive was brood with edges of honey. Unfortunately we had to slice through larvae in order to cut the comb to frame size; it was a creamy white, pollen infested massacre.
But, but. oh my god, but...
We saw baby bees being born.
It was really the most amazing thing I've ever witnessed. The sweet wiggling heads of these finely formed insects busted with precision and grace out of their individual hexagonal larvae comb right before our eyes.
I witnessed three new lives surface from the mysterious depths of one of the most fascinating substances on earth--bee comb.
Their small bodies were pale yellow. Their legs were weak and clumsy--like new born goats trying to find footing.
We placed brood comb into the frames and then brushed hundreds of bees off of piece after piece of the large, undulating comb into the hive we were creating for them in place of their wild hive. There are more pictures to come, but later.
Did you know that a wild hive looks a bit like human female genita.lia?
It is lush and sensual and so full of life.
After the whole collection process, we came home and some of us drank beer and pizza was eaten. Then we went back to the hive spot and saw that the ladies were festering over the place where their other home had been so (without our strange, white, alienesque bee suits) t held a bucket up and scooped the remainder and I pulled the top off the super and he dumped them in and I closed the lid. We did this twice. We think the queen is in the new hive.
There are so many bees and the colony is so strong that even if we crushed her or she did not make it in, they would feed and build another...
At least there are bees being born amidst the bloody mess of stuff that keeps coming out of kk into our toilet.
at least.
I am so fucking over all of this I can barely handle it.
What really sucks is today after work I had one of the most amazing experiences of my whole life, and k was there and she video taped it all and then we came home and had friends and neighbors on the porch and then k went to the bathroom and blood--bright red blood was all over the mini pad and a clot hung heavy on the top of the toilet water.
and i got mad and kind of turned my back.
and i am still mad.
but today, today after work we--that is my friends t and l plus me--we collected the most beautiful and enormous wild bee hive from an outbuilding one half block away from my house. It was such good work.
K taped us in action (hopefully, video cuts will one day be up on this blog).
The three of us worked so efficiently and well together. T cut the comb with wire from the eaves of the house one luscious piece at a time. L and I carried it to a tarp and cut the excess off into empty frames and then made sure the comb was held in place with rubber bands. The forefront of the wild hive was empty comb. The center of the hive was brood with edges of honey. Unfortunately we had to slice through larvae in order to cut the comb to frame size; it was a creamy white, pollen infested massacre.
But, but. oh my god, but...
We saw baby bees being born.
It was really the most amazing thing I've ever witnessed. The sweet wiggling heads of these finely formed insects busted with precision and grace out of their individual hexagonal larvae comb right before our eyes.
I witnessed three new lives surface from the mysterious depths of one of the most fascinating substances on earth--bee comb.
Their small bodies were pale yellow. Their legs were weak and clumsy--like new born goats trying to find footing.
We placed brood comb into the frames and then brushed hundreds of bees off of piece after piece of the large, undulating comb into the hive we were creating for them in place of their wild hive. There are more pictures to come, but later.
Did you know that a wild hive looks a bit like human female genita.lia?
It is lush and sensual and so full of life.
After the whole collection process, we came home and some of us drank beer and pizza was eaten. Then we went back to the hive spot and saw that the ladies were festering over the place where their other home had been so (without our strange, white, alienesque bee suits) t held a bucket up and scooped the remainder and I pulled the top off the super and he dumped them in and I closed the lid. We did this twice. We think the queen is in the new hive.
There are so many bees and the colony is so strong that even if we crushed her or she did not make it in, they would feed and build another...
At least there are bees being born amidst the bloody mess of stuff that keeps coming out of kk into our toilet.
at least.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
cold fingers; cold toes; cold ass
there is something to waking up to a cold house and then layering your clothes to get ready for a cold bicycle ride and then venturing out the door in the morning to a brisk wind and the chill that it brings and then being in that cold for a good 50 minutes.
a cup of tea, and then another and another and another and another--maybe ten in total throughout the day--once at work--helps to warm the ass and fingers and toes. Because those are the extremities that get cold. Your core, this is your chest and upper and lower abdomen stay hot and toasty and even sweaty while riding in the winter in michigan. This is, of course, dependent on proper layering. Which I am quite a pro at now.
Anyhow, our boiler busted last Friday. It up and quit on us; the old thing had no life left in it. It had rusted through so badly on the bottom grate that burn marks had started to develop up the sides of the metal box inside. All in all, it is a good thing it died, cause we didn't burn up in our ancient wooden house.
See one time this wrinkled, old man who drove a beat up mini van with George Bush Senior Stickers coating the rear of it--like 25 identical stickers--came to our house to give us some advice on how we might convert our coal burner (no longer functioning) to a wood stove and also how much it would cost to re-line the chimney. His estimate was way high--like $3,000, but he did offer us a warning. He said, "you girls should have safety ladders in the bedrooms upstairs cause if your house ever catches on fire you will not escape using the stairway. the flames will draw up the stairs and you will be trapped up there."
I stood wide jawed and thanked him for his advice. I already have a chain linked ladder in our bedroom, but damn that was some scary advice.
Thus far, we have avoided death by boiler fire and have frozen our fannies off for a total of 6 days. After forking over $3,850, we will soon have heat via a new boiler system. I can no longer type this post cause my fingers are too cold...
a cup of tea, and then another and another and another and another--maybe ten in total throughout the day--once at work--helps to warm the ass and fingers and toes. Because those are the extremities that get cold. Your core, this is your chest and upper and lower abdomen stay hot and toasty and even sweaty while riding in the winter in michigan. This is, of course, dependent on proper layering. Which I am quite a pro at now.
Anyhow, our boiler busted last Friday. It up and quit on us; the old thing had no life left in it. It had rusted through so badly on the bottom grate that burn marks had started to develop up the sides of the metal box inside. All in all, it is a good thing it died, cause we didn't burn up in our ancient wooden house.
See one time this wrinkled, old man who drove a beat up mini van with George Bush Senior Stickers coating the rear of it--like 25 identical stickers--came to our house to give us some advice on how we might convert our coal burner (no longer functioning) to a wood stove and also how much it would cost to re-line the chimney. His estimate was way high--like $3,000, but he did offer us a warning. He said, "you girls should have safety ladders in the bedrooms upstairs cause if your house ever catches on fire you will not escape using the stairway. the flames will draw up the stairs and you will be trapped up there."
I stood wide jawed and thanked him for his advice. I already have a chain linked ladder in our bedroom, but damn that was some scary advice.
Thus far, we have avoided death by boiler fire and have frozen our fannies off for a total of 6 days. After forking over $3,850, we will soon have heat via a new boiler system. I can no longer type this post cause my fingers are too cold...
Saturday, December 26, 2009
the Ebenezer season
winter tiredness has hit me hard. it is dragging my eyelids through slushy pot holes--liquid ice and mud and street salt pools that burn real bad.
my heart is heavier than the gravestone in my back yard and the frozen dead chicken still resting soundly in the garage. it is heavy cause blood family can be so complicated. and when 39 year old relationships can no longer withstand the daily test of love and being together, it can roughen the heart of even the most optimistic of people. not that i am an optimist--far from it.
and so let me start over. let me tell you that i can be sentimental. i like to hold onto objects that have passed over the hands, mouths, faces, teeth, breasts, butts, and other fleshy parts of long dead humans. i like old agricultural and woodworking tools--the kinds with worn handles--smooth and slippery from sweaty, oily palms of men who have died due to various diseases and accidents. a slip on an icy patch of concrete and a divot to the temple--dead like that. a long agonizing death treated only with drips of liquid morphine as the jaw bone fell apart from the ravages of mouth cancer in the year 1940. a quick unexpected death from a heart attack--a grasp of the chest a turning up of the blue lips in a quick flash of pain only to last as long as it takes to stop the beating of the human heart.
i think about these things. these made up deaths in my head. haunting me. keeping me company. a story to go along with the handle of a 100 year old ax.
but, i am having difficulty appreciating the many words left by humans about what all this living is supposed to mean or about how we are supposed to do this living or about how we are supposed to love while living or about how we are supposed to die well or about simply being.
some of these words come in the form of inspirational, contemplative bullshit that circulates in a whirling deluge through the interwebs and books and "news" sources and audio recordings and dvds and etc; all that inspirational gunk floating throughout space; all that shit is driving me mad. up a wall.
who cares? really? do the words make it easier here on this planet? maybe for a brief moment. but really? and i am reflecting on all of this after giving my uncle who is battling the unbeatable pan.creatic cancer a bo.ok of blessings to try to help him get through a few minutes of the day.
yes, maybe a few minutes.
in the end though, we will succumb and no longer draw air into our bodies and we will do it either lightly or heavily or quickly or lingeringly or maybe all of those together. we will end up burned into dust or placed in the ground wrapped in gauze or bomb proof caskets with silky linings for our dead skin to feel not or a pine box or some other simple contraption or maybe we will be left out for carnivorous birds to tear at the sinewy strings of our muscles or maybe we will be thrown--flesh and bones and blood and hair--into the midst of a hot compost and break down into a perfect kind of soil additive. we will come to death and hopefully some of us will have myths and meanings wrapped up around this event that is bound to happen to all of us. and hopefully these myths and meanings will be deeper than the wordiness of this post or of the hundreds of thousands of rants of words that fill the human airwaves.
all in all, i sometimes think that all the inspirational bullshit hovering around is some kind of balm to keep us in denial about the impending end and the crusty parts of living that are like a big, snotty nose that has been sick with a sinus infection for days on end. you know the kind when your skin is rubbed raw down to the layer right before bloody. touch that raw place. touch it and press it and plant a seat upon it for a few hours. maybe the meaningful words written by too smart for their own good people or too spiritual to be drawn back down to the rocky soil we are treading on esoteric type of folks would get lost among the pus and pain. maybe every once in a while we just have to stare the suffering in the face and say you suck suffering--you suck real bad. and you suck hate--you suck worse than suffering today. irreconcilable differences you suck.
not eloquent or soft and fluffy, but at least this thinking keeps me rooted; at least it keeps me grounded. the sentiment above is what keeps me from ever becoming an addict (drugs, alcohol, etc); i like to feel what is happening before my eyes or what is unfolding somewhere beyond me, but has been conveyed to me by letters or phone calls. i do not want to be numb. i do not want to smile or think that was oh so very deep and profound and now it all makes sense because of something i read. i want the real to unfold around me and to grab hold of it, even if it is a razor blade and squeeze it until my hand is gutted and my heart aches. okay maybe not that dramatic...
oh and maybe the inspirational fodder adds some drama to the day. to this day. and writing is a god thing after all. it makes for fun times.
and now this crotchety soul will move on to another glass of beer and try with all of her might to ignore the trembling, shaky leg syndrome person in the booth behind her. but that might be the festering raw sore i was talking about sitting in...it is for me tonight.
my heart is heavier than the gravestone in my back yard and the frozen dead chicken still resting soundly in the garage. it is heavy cause blood family can be so complicated. and when 39 year old relationships can no longer withstand the daily test of love and being together, it can roughen the heart of even the most optimistic of people. not that i am an optimist--far from it.
and so let me start over. let me tell you that i can be sentimental. i like to hold onto objects that have passed over the hands, mouths, faces, teeth, breasts, butts, and other fleshy parts of long dead humans. i like old agricultural and woodworking tools--the kinds with worn handles--smooth and slippery from sweaty, oily palms of men who have died due to various diseases and accidents. a slip on an icy patch of concrete and a divot to the temple--dead like that. a long agonizing death treated only with drips of liquid morphine as the jaw bone fell apart from the ravages of mouth cancer in the year 1940. a quick unexpected death from a heart attack--a grasp of the chest a turning up of the blue lips in a quick flash of pain only to last as long as it takes to stop the beating of the human heart.
i think about these things. these made up deaths in my head. haunting me. keeping me company. a story to go along with the handle of a 100 year old ax.
but, i am having difficulty appreciating the many words left by humans about what all this living is supposed to mean or about how we are supposed to do this living or about how we are supposed to love while living or about how we are supposed to die well or about simply being.
some of these words come in the form of inspirational, contemplative bullshit that circulates in a whirling deluge through the interwebs and books and "news" sources and audio recordings and dvds and etc; all that inspirational gunk floating throughout space; all that shit is driving me mad. up a wall.
who cares? really? do the words make it easier here on this planet? maybe for a brief moment. but really? and i am reflecting on all of this after giving my uncle who is battling the unbeatable pan.creatic cancer a bo.ok of blessings to try to help him get through a few minutes of the day.
yes, maybe a few minutes.
in the end though, we will succumb and no longer draw air into our bodies and we will do it either lightly or heavily or quickly or lingeringly or maybe all of those together. we will end up burned into dust or placed in the ground wrapped in gauze or bomb proof caskets with silky linings for our dead skin to feel not or a pine box or some other simple contraption or maybe we will be left out for carnivorous birds to tear at the sinewy strings of our muscles or maybe we will be thrown--flesh and bones and blood and hair--into the midst of a hot compost and break down into a perfect kind of soil additive. we will come to death and hopefully some of us will have myths and meanings wrapped up around this event that is bound to happen to all of us. and hopefully these myths and meanings will be deeper than the wordiness of this post or of the hundreds of thousands of rants of words that fill the human airwaves.
all in all, i sometimes think that all the inspirational bullshit hovering around is some kind of balm to keep us in denial about the impending end and the crusty parts of living that are like a big, snotty nose that has been sick with a sinus infection for days on end. you know the kind when your skin is rubbed raw down to the layer right before bloody. touch that raw place. touch it and press it and plant a seat upon it for a few hours. maybe the meaningful words written by too smart for their own good people or too spiritual to be drawn back down to the rocky soil we are treading on esoteric type of folks would get lost among the pus and pain. maybe every once in a while we just have to stare the suffering in the face and say you suck suffering--you suck real bad. and you suck hate--you suck worse than suffering today. irreconcilable differences you suck.
not eloquent or soft and fluffy, but at least this thinking keeps me rooted; at least it keeps me grounded. the sentiment above is what keeps me from ever becoming an addict (drugs, alcohol, etc); i like to feel what is happening before my eyes or what is unfolding somewhere beyond me, but has been conveyed to me by letters or phone calls. i do not want to be numb. i do not want to smile or think that was oh so very deep and profound and now it all makes sense because of something i read. i want the real to unfold around me and to grab hold of it, even if it is a razor blade and squeeze it until my hand is gutted and my heart aches. okay maybe not that dramatic...
oh and maybe the inspirational fodder adds some drama to the day. to this day. and writing is a god thing after all. it makes for fun times.
and now this crotchety soul will move on to another glass of beer and try with all of her might to ignore the trembling, shaky leg syndrome person in the booth behind her. but that might be the festering raw sore i was talking about sitting in...it is for me tonight.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
3000 miles
On Friday, April 24 (which also happened to be my 33rd birthday), I hit 3,000 miles on my bicycle--the good old Portland. I was particularly happy cause it happened in the a park I love beside the River I love. I rode 3,000 in less than 11 months--it is a nice number--3,000.
Since February 7, I have rode 632 miles--this is mostly commuting mileage! So, I really have gotten my physical stride back since all that was once alive in me died and came spilling out between my legs. However, to be honest, I have not gotten my emotional stride back and that leaves my body feeling fatigued and worried and all out of whack.
So, if I am a bit missing in action from this blog, it is because I am a bit missing in action from my own life. I keep on keeping on, but things are muddled and foggy and heavy right now.
Back to the 3,000--a lovely number; the number I hit on my birthday! hooray.
Since February 7, I have rode 632 miles--this is mostly commuting mileage! So, I really have gotten my physical stride back since all that was once alive in me died and came spilling out between my legs. However, to be honest, I have not gotten my emotional stride back and that leaves my body feeling fatigued and worried and all out of whack.
So, if I am a bit missing in action from this blog, it is because I am a bit missing in action from my own life. I keep on keeping on, but things are muddled and foggy and heavy right now.
Back to the 3,000--a lovely number; the number I hit on my birthday! hooray.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Eating gas station trail mix and swallowing my own tears to wash down the salty dryness.
Last night I went to bed with tears falling down my face and this morning I woke up with tears falling down my face. When I try to tap the underlying feeling behind the tears, I cannot quite find it. And I know I do not have to find it, but still I want to make them stop. Or at least subside here and there so I do not feel like my heart has been painted gray and is floundering for footing that never seems to come.
This has all been harder than I though it might be. Being physically diminished and emotionally wounded is like being trapped in some kind of cavern. I can feel the rocks wet and hard and thick around me, but there is no light. I think bats are overhead and pools of water below me, and maybe I want to be swiped by the bats and fall back into the water and sink for a while and then come back up and see some kind of glow over the cave that is holding me captive and have the jagged edges become defined with reason and guidance for what is next.
I keep wondering if I need to make sense out of any of this or come to any kind of conclusive state of mind. For now, I am trying to just be in this unusual, unfamiliar state of mind and heart. I am trying to be okay with being depressed and full of anxiety and grief.
I keep contemplating how there are two wombs involved here. I mean how lucky am I that the first time some sliders of life were sent up my vagina they clicked with my egg and I found myself pregnant? But, please remember that we have been trying with kk for almost two years. And we have been let down over and over and over again. And for just once we had a respite from the negative test.
Oh, and then shock hung over my chest like a murky ocean wave. And I felt sick and hijacked for weeks. And then I started to feel better and then what had been living inside of me was dead. And then its deadness came dropping out of me and sent my hormones raging yet again to a place where I have no control. Or as I have been discovering I’ve been in a place where I let my fear have all the control. And, every time I go pee there is still the reminder of the life that was once in me on the surface of the plush pads that I have been wearing for nearly two weeks.
And while I still am asking the question if sense does need to be made…I have to think that maybe this hard road does have some meaning—meaning with conclusions attached. Like maybe we are not meant to be parents. Maybe we are meant to love one another fiercely and love our community with pure attentiveness and work for justice with all of our might, time, and energy. And maybe I am not really cut out to carry a child in my womb—maybe my strengths rest in other arenas of creating life and giving back to this larger than me life force.
Well, I am still sitting here with the bag of trail mix next to me; the tears tucked up in my eye rims for now; the snow falling more; the day gray and cold; the cave still dark; the glow maybe waiting beneath it all.
This has all been harder than I though it might be. Being physically diminished and emotionally wounded is like being trapped in some kind of cavern. I can feel the rocks wet and hard and thick around me, but there is no light. I think bats are overhead and pools of water below me, and maybe I want to be swiped by the bats and fall back into the water and sink for a while and then come back up and see some kind of glow over the cave that is holding me captive and have the jagged edges become defined with reason and guidance for what is next.
I keep wondering if I need to make sense out of any of this or come to any kind of conclusive state of mind. For now, I am trying to just be in this unusual, unfamiliar state of mind and heart. I am trying to be okay with being depressed and full of anxiety and grief.
I keep contemplating how there are two wombs involved here. I mean how lucky am I that the first time some sliders of life were sent up my vagina they clicked with my egg and I found myself pregnant? But, please remember that we have been trying with kk for almost two years. And we have been let down over and over and over again. And for just once we had a respite from the negative test.
Oh, and then shock hung over my chest like a murky ocean wave. And I felt sick and hijacked for weeks. And then I started to feel better and then what had been living inside of me was dead. And then its deadness came dropping out of me and sent my hormones raging yet again to a place where I have no control. Or as I have been discovering I’ve been in a place where I let my fear have all the control. And, every time I go pee there is still the reminder of the life that was once in me on the surface of the plush pads that I have been wearing for nearly two weeks.
And while I still am asking the question if sense does need to be made…I have to think that maybe this hard road does have some meaning—meaning with conclusions attached. Like maybe we are not meant to be parents. Maybe we are meant to love one another fiercely and love our community with pure attentiveness and work for justice with all of our might, time, and energy. And maybe I am not really cut out to carry a child in my womb—maybe my strengths rest in other arenas of creating life and giving back to this larger than me life force.
Well, I am still sitting here with the bag of trail mix next to me; the tears tucked up in my eye rims for now; the snow falling more; the day gray and cold; the cave still dark; the glow maybe waiting beneath it all.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Music for a miscarriage
Over the last few days, I really did not think that which had been living inside me was still alive. My body just knew it. Perhaps it was my mind preparing me for the finality of the ultrasound images, but whatever it was, a graceful intuition let me know that today there would be no heartbeat. And now I am swallowing this pill laced with loss a bit easier than I might have otherwise (at least for now).
Last night when sleep would not come, I started a soundtrack of music for a miscarriage in my head. Below are the songs that surfaced for this day with some lines I like and my little reflection next to them. Thank you all for your kind words and support throughout this crazy and befuddling time. Our hearts are achy and numb and jagged around the edges. If anyone wants me to burn the tunes listed below, just let me know and I will send them your way. You really have to hear them to get the full impact of the soundtrack!
Music for when a heart is little bit cracked
Red House Painters—Song for a Blue Guitar Some lines: “In the room all I feel is the cold that you left/ In the air all I see is your face full of blame/ What’s left to see?/ What’s there to see?” Reflection: Because Mark Kozelek’s voice is familiar and his words touching and the tone of his music reaches that sweet space in my soul.
Patty Griffin—When it don’t Come Easy Some lines: “But if you break down,
I'll drive out and find you/ If you forget my love, I'll try to remind you/
And stay by you when it don't come easy/ I don't know nothing except change will come/ Year after year what we do is undone/ Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run/ I wonder if we're gonna ever get home” Reflection: Patty Griffin's voice is like a healing balm. Her lyrics hit at the core of so much involved in the mundane and extraordinary of the human experience. This song reminds me of my mom—I know she would always come out and find me if I was lost or confused. Throughout the fragile time of my short-lived pregnancy, I was reminded of her tenacity for loving her children as I listened to this…
Mahalia Jackson, Take My Hand, Precious Lord Some lines:
Precious Lord, take my hand.
Lead me on, let me stand.
I am tired, I am weak, and worn.
Through the storm, through the night,
Lead me on to the light.
Take my hand, precious Lord,
Lead me home
Reflection: I simply love this song. I love Mahalia Jackson’s voice and the depth of her belief and the grace and guidance she calls for in these old words.
Bob Dylan—Let me Die in My Footsteps Some lines: “And some people thinking that the end is close by, instead of learning to live they are learning to die/ let me die in my footsteps before I go down under the ground.” This song makes me want to live and live well. In my depressive teenage years, I used to listen to this song over and over to help me make it through the days. I still need it.
Robert Johnson—Stones in my Passway Some lines: “I got stones in my passway/ and all my roads seem dark at night/ I got stones in my passway/ and all my roads seem dark at night/ I have pains in my heart/ they have taken my appetite/ I have a bird to whistle/ I have a bird to sing/ Have a bird to whistle/ and I have a bird to sing” Reflection: Cause the blues are good for me right now.
Dirty Three—The Restless Waves Instrumental. The music simply reflects the rises, dips, and plateaus of my emotions over the last many weeks.
Phil Ochs--When I'm Gone Some lines: "Won't see the golden of the sun when I'm gone/
And the evenings and the mornings will be one when I'm gone/
Can't be singing louder than the guns when I'm gone/
So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here." Reflection: This is our song (kk and me). I first shared it with her when we were newly together, nine years ago, and it is our reminder to work for what is just and right while we are here, to love with a fierce persistence while we are alive, to take in the beauty and plainness of everyday while we still have breath in our lungs.
Chris Bathgate—A Problem in Dissonance Solved Some lines: “The kids they will come out the kids will come out they come, so I will withdraw now cause enough within this world is broke.” This song always makes me well up with emotion. It is melodic and melancholy and touches a nerve of truth somewhere in the cavity of my chest where my heart lives.
Townes Van Zandt—Snow Don’t Fall Some lines: “My love I need not see to know she casts her glance at me/ snow don’t fall on summer’s time/ wind don’t blow below the sea/ my love lies ‘neath frozen skies and waits in sweet repose for me” Reflection: This is my favorite Van Zandt tune and it makes me happy in Winter. It makes me think of hope and how I need it in my life.
Joy Division—Disorder Some Lines: “I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand/ Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man/ New sensations bear the innocence, leave them for another day/ I've got the spirit, lose the feeling, take the shock away.” One of my favorite Joy Division songs; it always makes me contemplative and excited at once. I feel on the edge of something bigger and better and scary when I listen to it.
Last night when sleep would not come, I started a soundtrack of music for a miscarriage in my head. Below are the songs that surfaced for this day with some lines I like and my little reflection next to them. Thank you all for your kind words and support throughout this crazy and befuddling time. Our hearts are achy and numb and jagged around the edges. If anyone wants me to burn the tunes listed below, just let me know and I will send them your way. You really have to hear them to get the full impact of the soundtrack!
Music for when a heart is little bit cracked
Red House Painters—Song for a Blue Guitar Some lines: “In the room all I feel is the cold that you left/ In the air all I see is your face full of blame/ What’s left to see?/ What’s there to see?” Reflection: Because Mark Kozelek’s voice is familiar and his words touching and the tone of his music reaches that sweet space in my soul.
Patty Griffin—When it don’t Come Easy Some lines: “But if you break down,
I'll drive out and find you/ If you forget my love, I'll try to remind you/
And stay by you when it don't come easy/ I don't know nothing except change will come/ Year after year what we do is undone/ Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run/ I wonder if we're gonna ever get home” Reflection: Patty Griffin's voice is like a healing balm. Her lyrics hit at the core of so much involved in the mundane and extraordinary of the human experience. This song reminds me of my mom—I know she would always come out and find me if I was lost or confused. Throughout the fragile time of my short-lived pregnancy, I was reminded of her tenacity for loving her children as I listened to this…
Mahalia Jackson, Take My Hand, Precious Lord Some lines:
Precious Lord, take my hand.
Lead me on, let me stand.
I am tired, I am weak, and worn.
Through the storm, through the night,
Lead me on to the light.
Take my hand, precious Lord,
Lead me home
Reflection: I simply love this song. I love Mahalia Jackson’s voice and the depth of her belief and the grace and guidance she calls for in these old words.
Bob Dylan—Let me Die in My Footsteps Some lines: “And some people thinking that the end is close by, instead of learning to live they are learning to die/ let me die in my footsteps before I go down under the ground.” This song makes me want to live and live well. In my depressive teenage years, I used to listen to this song over and over to help me make it through the days. I still need it.
Robert Johnson—Stones in my Passway Some lines: “I got stones in my passway/ and all my roads seem dark at night/ I got stones in my passway/ and all my roads seem dark at night/ I have pains in my heart/ they have taken my appetite/ I have a bird to whistle/ I have a bird to sing/ Have a bird to whistle/ and I have a bird to sing” Reflection: Cause the blues are good for me right now.
Dirty Three—The Restless Waves Instrumental. The music simply reflects the rises, dips, and plateaus of my emotions over the last many weeks.
Phil Ochs--When I'm Gone Some lines: "Won't see the golden of the sun when I'm gone/
And the evenings and the mornings will be one when I'm gone/
Can't be singing louder than the guns when I'm gone/
So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here." Reflection: This is our song (kk and me). I first shared it with her when we were newly together, nine years ago, and it is our reminder to work for what is just and right while we are here, to love with a fierce persistence while we are alive, to take in the beauty and plainness of everyday while we still have breath in our lungs.
Chris Bathgate—A Problem in Dissonance Solved Some lines: “The kids they will come out the kids will come out they come, so I will withdraw now cause enough within this world is broke.” This song always makes me well up with emotion. It is melodic and melancholy and touches a nerve of truth somewhere in the cavity of my chest where my heart lives.
Townes Van Zandt—Snow Don’t Fall Some lines: “My love I need not see to know she casts her glance at me/ snow don’t fall on summer’s time/ wind don’t blow below the sea/ my love lies ‘neath frozen skies and waits in sweet repose for me” Reflection: This is my favorite Van Zandt tune and it makes me happy in Winter. It makes me think of hope and how I need it in my life.
Joy Division—Disorder Some Lines: “I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand/ Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man/ New sensations bear the innocence, leave them for another day/ I've got the spirit, lose the feeling, take the shock away.” One of my favorite Joy Division songs; it always makes me contemplative and excited at once. I feel on the edge of something bigger and better and scary when I listen to it.
Monday, January 19, 2009
red blood
Well. the blood has turned to red and there is more of it. talked to the nurse and the on-call midwife today. i have an appointment for wednesday at 8:00am. it is the first slot they had available. we are preparing for a let down and keeping a small bit of hope. it is hard to be balanced in a time like this.
we rented some movies and took tomorrow off of work in order to rest and keep ready for the possible onset of more blood and tissue.
i had my bloodwork today.
while i could go to the er, i'd rather ride this out at home in a space where i am comfortable and more peaceful.
just wanted to put the news out there. it is not all bad, but far from good.
i've been crying a lot. just weeping out of nowhere.
what a week for this to all come down. sunday is year seven for the loss of kk's mama. so k's emotions are already so fragile and wound in a tight cloak of loss and grief.
till the next time...
we rented some movies and took tomorrow off of work in order to rest and keep ready for the possible onset of more blood and tissue.
i had my bloodwork today.
while i could go to the er, i'd rather ride this out at home in a space where i am comfortable and more peaceful.
just wanted to put the news out there. it is not all bad, but far from good.
i've been crying a lot. just weeping out of nowhere.
what a week for this to all come down. sunday is year seven for the loss of kk's mama. so k's emotions are already so fragile and wound in a tight cloak of loss and grief.
till the next time...
Saturday, January 17, 2009
the uncertainty is maddening.
around 11:00 this morning i had some spotting. just a little, but some nevertheless. then some more around 1:30. it is brown and old looking with no cramping. i called a midwife friend and she explained that it could be the 9/10 week fetus now living off placenta blood. i've also had some burning in my crotch--not while i pee, but after when i am sitting around--the bacterial vaginosis/yeast infection kind of burning.
i did end up calling the on-call doctor at the clinic. and he was really nice and wants me to call and make an appointment for monday or tuesday. he said he wanted me in way before february 6th especially cause of the spotting and rh issues and all of that. he told me he understood how the receptionists at the east ann arbor clinic were about scheduling appointments (which is basically not so flexible or nice) and so he said he would leave a note and he wanted me to call monday morning and get an appointment for monday or tuesday.
in the meantime, if cramping and heavier bleeding occur, i need to call back and then make my way to the er.
i am trying to be positive and understand that k and i will weather whatever befalls us, but keeping my mind centered and at peace is so hard. my heart is sort of sputtering--flipping around trying to make sense of all of these opportunities before me for practicing patience. i want answers and heartbeats. but alas...
i did end up calling the on-call doctor at the clinic. and he was really nice and wants me to call and make an appointment for monday or tuesday. he said he wanted me in way before february 6th especially cause of the spotting and rh issues and all of that. he told me he understood how the receptionists at the east ann arbor clinic were about scheduling appointments (which is basically not so flexible or nice) and so he said he would leave a note and he wanted me to call monday morning and get an appointment for monday or tuesday.
in the meantime, if cramping and heavier bleeding occur, i need to call back and then make my way to the er.
i am trying to be positive and understand that k and i will weather whatever befalls us, but keeping my mind centered and at peace is so hard. my heart is sort of sputtering--flipping around trying to make sense of all of these opportunities before me for practicing patience. i want answers and heartbeats. but alas...
Thursday, November 20, 2008
i am conflicted
again, my kk started her period. i am convinced it is break time. but she does have an appointment with the reproduction doctor again on wednesday. he wants to try some different stuff. me, i do not want to try for the next couple months at all.
there's nothing like false hope.
i tend to be a cynical, stick in the mud, nasty ass bitch who likes to flip people off when they are annoying me.
i'm not always a bitch, but damn i sure can be one.
you should of all heard me yelling--in the quietude of my own house--profanities at heterosexuals the last few days. i cannot believe that this fucking world is even concerned with who consenting adults are fucking and building a life with. and once again i could go on and on, but really fuck you people who think my life is immoral; fuck you people who think you can tell me what i can or cannot put into my body; and fuck you you people who take for granted the fact that you have heterosexual privilege.
yes heterosexual privilege is a beast looming over my shoulder. it has hot breath and it stinks. and guess what i am tired of it not being looked at or dissected or challenged. can you all even believe that some of the robo calls for prop 8 said things about there being an overwhelming amount of gay characters on television. yeah right, sometimes i crave queer representation in pop culture or in my day-to-day life so bad that i have to watch but i'm a cheerleader for the umpteenth time or re-read annie on my mind again and again to get my fix.
a few weeks ago i saw a suburu commercial on logo that told this lovely little story of this twin who dedicated her life to orphans in africa. she spent her free time in the wilderness with her partner--or a woman looking person who appeared to be her partner--and i got all fucking weepy over it. yes, weepy over a goddamn tv commercial for a not very fuel efficient vehicle.
so check it hets. representations of your love are everywhere. everywhere. male cock in lady socket over and over and over. man tongue in woman mouth. man hand in woman hand, a loving embrace between a het couple, over and over and over and over. and over. i am almost choking on it now.
do you know that the only gay person i was aware of growing up was the art teacher at my high school who was followed home from a gay bar and murdered by two men in his shower.
yep. that's it.
i walked around in layers of gender ambiguity trying to understand why i felt so connected to some of my female friends with no examples; no direction; no anything.
and today,in highschool, is it much different?
today, we are experiencing the back lash of our steps forward. we are wallowing in the hatred of the religious and suffocating in the residue of heterosexual privilege and representation. gay folks strive to reproduce a nuclear version of family that mimics the very foundations of the people so hell-bent on denying and destroying gayness. i am guilty of it. i try to replicate heteronormative ways of being just by attempting to grow my family biologically with kk and living in a committed, monogamous relationship.
i want us all to be open to difference; to reliance on created, extended family/ non-nuclear family structures and non-bio family structures, and i do not want to be wrapped in the confines of the dangerous and destructive status quo. and i do not want to rely on pop-culture or other media representation for any kind of assurance that people like me are out there, and at the same time, my heart yearns for the familiar, for that which feels like home--for the beauty of women sharing passion and lust and love.
ultimately , i am conflicted and mad as hell and wanting to just cry real hard and everything be okay...
there's nothing like false hope.
i tend to be a cynical, stick in the mud, nasty ass bitch who likes to flip people off when they are annoying me.
i'm not always a bitch, but damn i sure can be one.
you should of all heard me yelling--in the quietude of my own house--profanities at heterosexuals the last few days. i cannot believe that this fucking world is even concerned with who consenting adults are fucking and building a life with. and once again i could go on and on, but really fuck you people who think my life is immoral; fuck you people who think you can tell me what i can or cannot put into my body; and fuck you you people who take for granted the fact that you have heterosexual privilege.
yes heterosexual privilege is a beast looming over my shoulder. it has hot breath and it stinks. and guess what i am tired of it not being looked at or dissected or challenged. can you all even believe that some of the robo calls for prop 8 said things about there being an overwhelming amount of gay characters on television. yeah right, sometimes i crave queer representation in pop culture or in my day-to-day life so bad that i have to watch but i'm a cheerleader for the umpteenth time or re-read annie on my mind again and again to get my fix.
a few weeks ago i saw a suburu commercial on logo that told this lovely little story of this twin who dedicated her life to orphans in africa. she spent her free time in the wilderness with her partner--or a woman looking person who appeared to be her partner--and i got all fucking weepy over it. yes, weepy over a goddamn tv commercial for a not very fuel efficient vehicle.
so check it hets. representations of your love are everywhere. everywhere. male cock in lady socket over and over and over. man tongue in woman mouth. man hand in woman hand, a loving embrace between a het couple, over and over and over and over. and over. i am almost choking on it now.
do you know that the only gay person i was aware of growing up was the art teacher at my high school who was followed home from a gay bar and murdered by two men in his shower.
yep. that's it.
i walked around in layers of gender ambiguity trying to understand why i felt so connected to some of my female friends with no examples; no direction; no anything.
and today,in highschool, is it much different?
today, we are experiencing the back lash of our steps forward. we are wallowing in the hatred of the religious and suffocating in the residue of heterosexual privilege and representation. gay folks strive to reproduce a nuclear version of family that mimics the very foundations of the people so hell-bent on denying and destroying gayness. i am guilty of it. i try to replicate heteronormative ways of being just by attempting to grow my family biologically with kk and living in a committed, monogamous relationship.
i want us all to be open to difference; to reliance on created, extended family/ non-nuclear family structures and non-bio family structures, and i do not want to be wrapped in the confines of the dangerous and destructive status quo. and i do not want to rely on pop-culture or other media representation for any kind of assurance that people like me are out there, and at the same time, my heart yearns for the familiar, for that which feels like home--for the beauty of women sharing passion and lust and love.
ultimately , i am conflicted and mad as hell and wanting to just cry real hard and everything be okay...
Friday, November 7, 2008
Beyond Marriage
After elation over the historic nomination of BO as the next prez of the good ol usa, I slunk into a state of sorrowfulness. Yesterday, I was wallowing in the aftermath of the four other big events that developed on Tuesday—the anti-gay propositions that passed in California, Arizona, Florida, and Arkansas. Mostly, I am sad that so, so many Americans are still so heterosexist and homophobic and ultimately hateful.
I’ve been going back and forth with people about the categories of human emotion and states of being that underlie the motivations of people to vote for the passage of discriminatory laws. We tend to lean on the whole notion that fear or ignorance or misunderstanding lead to these actions. We do this to trick ourselves into believing that the meanness is not there. Well, I am tired of doing that; I will name the motivating feature as hatefulness and meanness. In the end, fear and ignorance may be there too, but fear and ignorance manifest hateful actions. And I think it helpful to call it what it is…
With that rant, I have to then explain that I came back to a place of solid ground late yesterday afternoon. I revisited--it originally came out in 2006--what I believe to be a beautiful document—a document that captures my own heart and moves beyond this thing the “gay” movement (whatever that might be) has become so very focused on. We need real heart change in this country. We need to use our love and our smarts to wage a proactive movement that is bigger than the status quo and the religious right. I think this document for Beyond Marriage does a great job of outlining a visionary framework that is inclusive and inter-sectional and full of loving intentions that can overcome the hate we saw in action on Tuesday.
I’ve pasted the executive summary below. You can get the full text at Beyond Marriage
The time has come to reframe the narrow terms of the marriage debate in the United States. Conservatives are seeking to enshrine discrimination in the U.S. Constitution through the Federal Marriage Amendment. But their opposition to same-sex marriage is only one part of a broader pro-marriage, “family values” agenda that includes abstinence-only sex education, stringent divorce laws, coercive marriage promotion policies directed toward women on welfare, and attacks on reproductive freedom. Moreover, a thirty-year political assault on the social safety net has left households with more burdens and constraints and fewer resources.
Meanwhile, the LGBT movement has recently focused on marriage equality as a stand-alone issue. While this strategy may secure rights and benefits for some LGBT families, it has left us isolated and vulnerable to a virulent backlash. We must respond to the full scope of the conservative marriage agenda by building alliances across issues and constituencies. Our strategies must be visionary, creative, and practical to counter the right's powerful and effective use of marriage as a “wedge” issue that pits one group against another. The struggle for marriage rights should be part of a larger effort to strengthen the stability and security of diverse households and families. To that end, we advocate:
Ø Legal recognition for a wide range of relationships, households and families – regardless of kinship or conjugal status.
Ø Access for all, regardless of marital or citizenship status, to vital government support programs including but not limited to health care, housing, Social Security and pension plans, disaster recovery assistance, unemployment insurance and welfare assistance.
Ø Separation of church and state in all matters, including regulation and recognition of relationships, households and families.
Ø Freedom from state regulation of our sexual lives and gender choices, identities and expression.
Marriage is not the only worthy form of family or relationship, and it should not be legally and economically privileged above all others. A majority of people – whatever their sexual and gender identities – do not live in traditional nuclear families. They stand to gain from alternative forms of household recognition beyond one-size-fits-all marriage. For example:
· Single parent households
· Senior citizens living together and serving as each other’s caregivers (think Golden Girls)
· Blended and extended families
· Children being raised in multiple households or by unmarried parents
· Adult children living with and caring for their parents
· Senior citizens who are the primary caregivers to their grandchildren or other relatives
· Close friends or siblings living in non-conjugal relationships and serving as each other’s primary support and caregivers
· Households in which there is more than one conjugal partner
· Care-giving relationships that provide support to those living with extended illness such as HIV/AIDS.
The current debate over marriage, same-sex and otherwise, ignores the needs and desires of so many in a nation where household diversity is the demographic norm. We seek to reframe this debate. Our call speaks to the widespread hunger for authentic and just community in ways that are both pragmatic and visionary. It follows in the best tradition of the progressive LGBT movement, which invented alternative legal statuses such as domestic partnership and reciprocal beneficiary. We seek to build on these historic accomplishments by continuing to diversify and democratize partnership and household recognition. We advocate the expansion of existing legal statuses, social services and benefits to support the needs of all our households.
We call on colleagues working in various social justice movements and campaigns to read the full-text of our statement “Beyond Same-Sex Marriage: A New Strategic Vision,” and to join us in our call for government support of all
I’ve been going back and forth with people about the categories of human emotion and states of being that underlie the motivations of people to vote for the passage of discriminatory laws. We tend to lean on the whole notion that fear or ignorance or misunderstanding lead to these actions. We do this to trick ourselves into believing that the meanness is not there. Well, I am tired of doing that; I will name the motivating feature as hatefulness and meanness. In the end, fear and ignorance may be there too, but fear and ignorance manifest hateful actions. And I think it helpful to call it what it is…
With that rant, I have to then explain that I came back to a place of solid ground late yesterday afternoon. I revisited--it originally came out in 2006--what I believe to be a beautiful document—a document that captures my own heart and moves beyond this thing the “gay” movement (whatever that might be) has become so very focused on. We need real heart change in this country. We need to use our love and our smarts to wage a proactive movement that is bigger than the status quo and the religious right. I think this document for Beyond Marriage does a great job of outlining a visionary framework that is inclusive and inter-sectional and full of loving intentions that can overcome the hate we saw in action on Tuesday.
I’ve pasted the executive summary below. You can get the full text at Beyond Marriage
The time has come to reframe the narrow terms of the marriage debate in the United States. Conservatives are seeking to enshrine discrimination in the U.S. Constitution through the Federal Marriage Amendment. But their opposition to same-sex marriage is only one part of a broader pro-marriage, “family values” agenda that includes abstinence-only sex education, stringent divorce laws, coercive marriage promotion policies directed toward women on welfare, and attacks on reproductive freedom. Moreover, a thirty-year political assault on the social safety net has left households with more burdens and constraints and fewer resources.
Meanwhile, the LGBT movement has recently focused on marriage equality as a stand-alone issue. While this strategy may secure rights and benefits for some LGBT families, it has left us isolated and vulnerable to a virulent backlash. We must respond to the full scope of the conservative marriage agenda by building alliances across issues and constituencies. Our strategies must be visionary, creative, and practical to counter the right's powerful and effective use of marriage as a “wedge” issue that pits one group against another. The struggle for marriage rights should be part of a larger effort to strengthen the stability and security of diverse households and families. To that end, we advocate:
Ø Legal recognition for a wide range of relationships, households and families – regardless of kinship or conjugal status.
Ø Access for all, regardless of marital or citizenship status, to vital government support programs including but not limited to health care, housing, Social Security and pension plans, disaster recovery assistance, unemployment insurance and welfare assistance.
Ø Separation of church and state in all matters, including regulation and recognition of relationships, households and families.
Ø Freedom from state regulation of our sexual lives and gender choices, identities and expression.
Marriage is not the only worthy form of family or relationship, and it should not be legally and economically privileged above all others. A majority of people – whatever their sexual and gender identities – do not live in traditional nuclear families. They stand to gain from alternative forms of household recognition beyond one-size-fits-all marriage. For example:
· Single parent households
· Senior citizens living together and serving as each other’s caregivers (think Golden Girls)
· Blended and extended families
· Children being raised in multiple households or by unmarried parents
· Adult children living with and caring for their parents
· Senior citizens who are the primary caregivers to their grandchildren or other relatives
· Close friends or siblings living in non-conjugal relationships and serving as each other’s primary support and caregivers
· Households in which there is more than one conjugal partner
· Care-giving relationships that provide support to those living with extended illness such as HIV/AIDS.
The current debate over marriage, same-sex and otherwise, ignores the needs and desires of so many in a nation where household diversity is the demographic norm. We seek to reframe this debate. Our call speaks to the widespread hunger for authentic and just community in ways that are both pragmatic and visionary. It follows in the best tradition of the progressive LGBT movement, which invented alternative legal statuses such as domestic partnership and reciprocal beneficiary. We seek to build on these historic accomplishments by continuing to diversify and democratize partnership and household recognition. We advocate the expansion of existing legal statuses, social services and benefits to support the needs of all our households.
We call on colleagues working in various social justice movements and campaigns to read the full-text of our statement “Beyond Same-Sex Marriage: A New Strategic Vision,” and to join us in our call for government support of all
Monday, September 29, 2008
flying high; flying low
The days have been flying so fast by my eyes that I feel more winded than I have in a long time.
On Thursday, I flew to California for the Critical Resistance 10 year anniversary conference.
Kk and I spoke on the phone, of course, when I got there and a few times on Friday. I noticed that her emotional state seemed a bit wobbly--much more unstable than usual. See, kk is my rock. She is level-headed and good-natured, but she has also always been a bit reserved with her emotions. She holds things in and let's life go on around her.
On Friday my friend at the conference asked me how kk was doing and I said not so good; she has been down; she is in a strange place.
So on Saturday morning when I spoke with her and she was weeping like a wet fish and had been for hours before she spoke with me,I knew she had fallen into a place she had never been before. When I said let's change my flight so I can come home to you early and she did not say, "no, I'll be okay", I really knew she was not okay.
Clomid has invaded her range of emotions and caused her to crash into a fragility that scares us both.
Kk booked me a red eye; it left 12 hours after I spoke with my weepy beautiful girl.
I still was able to attend most of the conference (all Friday and Saturday), have dinner and beers with friends on Saturday and make it to the San Fransisco airport 2 hours early.
I took my allergy medicine and hoped that I would sleep like a baby on the three hour flight to Minneapolis where I had a layover and plane change. But, I slept like a person trapped in a thrashing nightmare. My ass burned with the residue of sitting for too many hours over a 3 day period and my head was filled with worry for my girl and the natural worry that surfaces in the pit of my stomach every time I leave solid ground and launch my body via airplane into the sky.
I made it home to my sweet baby at 9:30 am eastern time. I was sleep deprived and stuffy headed, but wrapping my arms around her slight body and knowing I was there to help hold her fragile heart made me smile with serenity.
Amidst this emotional turmoil, she has restarted the Clomid (this time a double dose). I am not so happy about any of it, but it is what she wants to do.
We are now setting off into the dreary midst of more western medicine induced depression, but I cannot blame her weariness on the Clomid alone. There is something ominous hovering in the air around us. I think the sheer fact that a bigot the size of Sarah Palin could actually be put into a seat that gives her power to be one step away from the presidency is the epitome of that hovering, grim cloud.
As a queer person, I am feeling the gloom of the potential repression that accompanies the ideology of closed-minded, hate-filled holders of power. All of this is only the surface of my thinking on how the context of politics and culture directly impacts the inner-workings of our emotions. All of that analysis is for another day...
In the meantime, I will be holding my girl through this ever-changing ride.
On Thursday, I flew to California for the Critical Resistance 10 year anniversary conference.
Kk and I spoke on the phone, of course, when I got there and a few times on Friday. I noticed that her emotional state seemed a bit wobbly--much more unstable than usual. See, kk is my rock. She is level-headed and good-natured, but she has also always been a bit reserved with her emotions. She holds things in and let's life go on around her.
On Friday my friend at the conference asked me how kk was doing and I said not so good; she has been down; she is in a strange place.
So on Saturday morning when I spoke with her and she was weeping like a wet fish and had been for hours before she spoke with me,I knew she had fallen into a place she had never been before. When I said let's change my flight so I can come home to you early and she did not say, "no, I'll be okay", I really knew she was not okay.
Clomid has invaded her range of emotions and caused her to crash into a fragility that scares us both.
Kk booked me a red eye; it left 12 hours after I spoke with my weepy beautiful girl.
I still was able to attend most of the conference (all Friday and Saturday), have dinner and beers with friends on Saturday and make it to the San Fransisco airport 2 hours early.
I took my allergy medicine and hoped that I would sleep like a baby on the three hour flight to Minneapolis where I had a layover and plane change. But, I slept like a person trapped in a thrashing nightmare. My ass burned with the residue of sitting for too many hours over a 3 day period and my head was filled with worry for my girl and the natural worry that surfaces in the pit of my stomach every time I leave solid ground and launch my body via airplane into the sky.
I made it home to my sweet baby at 9:30 am eastern time. I was sleep deprived and stuffy headed, but wrapping my arms around her slight body and knowing I was there to help hold her fragile heart made me smile with serenity.
Amidst this emotional turmoil, she has restarted the Clomid (this time a double dose). I am not so happy about any of it, but it is what she wants to do.
We are now setting off into the dreary midst of more western medicine induced depression, but I cannot blame her weariness on the Clomid alone. There is something ominous hovering in the air around us. I think the sheer fact that a bigot the size of Sarah Palin could actually be put into a seat that gives her power to be one step away from the presidency is the epitome of that hovering, grim cloud.
As a queer person, I am feeling the gloom of the potential repression that accompanies the ideology of closed-minded, hate-filled holders of power. All of this is only the surface of my thinking on how the context of politics and culture directly impacts the inner-workings of our emotions. All of that analysis is for another day...
In the meantime, I will be holding my girl through this ever-changing ride.
Friday, September 19, 2008
my thumb tip is dangling and hope is dried up...
i am having a hell of a week.
and now when i thought i would write an update here on this public blathersphere, i can barely type.
see, i sliced off (well actually it is a flap of 1/4 inch skin) part of my thumb tip this morning. the best thing about slicing my thumb, besides kk taking great care of it, was it made me forget about my headache.
on a heavier note--clomid sucks. kk took it this cycle and then failed to ever get an LH surge. she has always surged, usually for 12 hours and now she takes this drug and does not surge at all...
i am over this.
we are both at the end of our ropes and will most likely take a break from all things pregnancy related. we did inject a few times based on the days that k typically ovulates, but i have no hope. it has been dried up or washed down the drain or strung up on the wall like miserable christmas lights.
that's it.
update over...
and now when i thought i would write an update here on this public blathersphere, i can barely type.
see, i sliced off (well actually it is a flap of 1/4 inch skin) part of my thumb tip this morning. the best thing about slicing my thumb, besides kk taking great care of it, was it made me forget about my headache.
on a heavier note--clomid sucks. kk took it this cycle and then failed to ever get an LH surge. she has always surged, usually for 12 hours and now she takes this drug and does not surge at all...
i am over this.
we are both at the end of our ropes and will most likely take a break from all things pregnancy related. we did inject a few times based on the days that k typically ovulates, but i have no hope. it has been dried up or washed down the drain or strung up on the wall like miserable christmas lights.
that's it.
update over...
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
number 100-rage at the re
How terribly appropriate that my one-hundredth post on this lovely blog will be all about the very thing that brought me to the land of web-bio-blather--trying to get my girlfriend (oh and she is so much more than a girl that is a friend) pregnant.
I cannot begin to explain the fury and sadness that erupted in my heart at the doctor's office this morning. But i can describe this uncontrollable swelling of tears that merged onto the edges of my eyes in front of a resident. I got this zippy electric pulse in my cheek bones that I could not shake and then the tears mounted the little pink precipice of the tender flesh that lines my eye sockets and i blinked 100 times to try to keep them in, but to no avail.
I do not like the reproductive specialist we go to. It is not because he is a bad guy or anything like that. It is because U of M medical is a teaching network and we keep having to be asked a million questions by different residents/doctors/students before we see the "specialist". Before it did not bother me all too much, but today, oh today, it struck a nerve and let me tell you why.
The resident who came in and slammed us with all of the questions laid out the steps we need to go through now that the multitude of test results are back. The steps included:
1. we try Clomid (big surprise there)
2. if and when Clomid does not work we move onto IUI with the fresh sperm (this is where the fury set in)
3. If IUI does not work move onto more drugs/FHS shenanigans.
4. Finally, when all else fails they would suggest In Vitro.
Okay, so we had to inform aforementioned resident that because k is not sexually intimate with potential bio-dad we cannot use his fresh sperm for an IUI. Now why--why did I have to use my breath on informing someone at this professional establishment this already painful-to-me knowledge? the head doc had already explained it to us for the second time back at the very first visit--apology all wrapped up in the explanation. And now we were informing the resident about our ass-backwards health code...
Anyhow, I got pissed as you can probably tell. But what I am really pissed about is this--instead of hanging his head and telling us how sorry he is that he cannot perform a fresh (washed of course) semen IUI in his office, why can't he offer up the notion that maybe he would be willing to organize some RE folks to work to get the ass-backwards health code changed so that same-sex couples have as much decision making power as straight people to put what semen they choose into their bodies?
He did tell us that he thinks we should have our known donor start the freezing/quarantine process now so that in case step 1 (Clomid and progesterone and DIY at home with the graciously donated fresh sperm ) does not work after a few months we will be ahead of the game--the quarantine process takes 6 months--and ready to move on to step two (that is step two for queer people which makes that fresh sperm frozen sperm).
At this time we will just stick with the drugs and the fresh jiz. I am too livid about once again being told what i (or my lover) can and/or cannot do with our bodies to start investigating what the extra money slam of freezing and quarantining the sperm of potential bio-dad would cause to our already depleted bank account.
Fuck the government...essentially they are once again giving straight people a financial break. The implications of their flawed health code do more than simply demoralize me as a gay woman; they also place an unfair financial burden on me--it would be much, much cheaper to use fresh sperm for the in office IUI.
But, fuck me too. how can I even begin to bitch about the cost when I have health insurance and so many people in this country do not? So, there it is bringing my rage full circle right back to my owning blathering heart.
Oh, and just so those of you who are not familiar with Michigan politics/legal shit know, we feel that it would severely jeopardize our already precariously constructed legal documents to try to pretend that K is sexually intimate with potential bio-dad. See, if we ever do get pregnant (that is kk ever does have a kid), I will have NO-ZILCH-NONE-AT-FUCKING-ALL rights to the kid here in MI. We do not have second-parent adoption; we have a constitutional amendment voted on by the MI public that bans gay-marriage for all time; we have an extremely conservative court system.
Basically, k and I have drafted up some legal documents that when push comes to shove could mean nothing at all.
If kk had a kid and then left this planet for the spirit world and then her dad or brother wanted to go after the kid, well they could and I might lose. Or if kk does have a kid and we end up in some conservative county in this state--that i keep loving for many reasons--and the kid gets hurt and k is not with us and i take the kid to the hospital they could be like, "you need to take a seat in the waiting room. (essentially, you don't matter--you queer fuck.)"
And now, I will end this ramble. but not without first pointing out that all of the rant above is deeply connected to desiring recognition and rights from an already extensively flawed system--i do not like the institution of marriage or the "rights" that have been built into it, and I have serious issues with the representative "democratic" government in this country. I believe a system based on representation will always keep many, many people and groups of people on the fringes, invisible and oppressed. So, my rant in its entirety is me wanting just for a minute to be part of the status quo and that in and of itself makes me sad...
I cannot begin to explain the fury and sadness that erupted in my heart at the doctor's office this morning. But i can describe this uncontrollable swelling of tears that merged onto the edges of my eyes in front of a resident. I got this zippy electric pulse in my cheek bones that I could not shake and then the tears mounted the little pink precipice of the tender flesh that lines my eye sockets and i blinked 100 times to try to keep them in, but to no avail.
I do not like the reproductive specialist we go to. It is not because he is a bad guy or anything like that. It is because U of M medical is a teaching network and we keep having to be asked a million questions by different residents/doctors/students before we see the "specialist". Before it did not bother me all too much, but today, oh today, it struck a nerve and let me tell you why.
The resident who came in and slammed us with all of the questions laid out the steps we need to go through now that the multitude of test results are back. The steps included:
1. we try Clomid (big surprise there)
2. if and when Clomid does not work we move onto IUI with the fresh sperm (this is where the fury set in)
3. If IUI does not work move onto more drugs/FHS shenanigans.
4. Finally, when all else fails they would suggest In Vitro.
Okay, so we had to inform aforementioned resident that because k is not sexually intimate with potential bio-dad we cannot use his fresh sperm for an IUI. Now why--why did I have to use my breath on informing someone at this professional establishment this already painful-to-me knowledge? the head doc had already explained it to us for the second time back at the very first visit--apology all wrapped up in the explanation. And now we were informing the resident about our ass-backwards health code...
Anyhow, I got pissed as you can probably tell. But what I am really pissed about is this--instead of hanging his head and telling us how sorry he is that he cannot perform a fresh (washed of course) semen IUI in his office, why can't he offer up the notion that maybe he would be willing to organize some RE folks to work to get the ass-backwards health code changed so that same-sex couples have as much decision making power as straight people to put what semen they choose into their bodies?
He did tell us that he thinks we should have our known donor start the freezing/quarantine process now so that in case step 1 (Clomid and progesterone and DIY at home with the graciously donated fresh sperm ) does not work after a few months we will be ahead of the game--the quarantine process takes 6 months--and ready to move on to step two (that is step two for queer people which makes that fresh sperm frozen sperm).
At this time we will just stick with the drugs and the fresh jiz. I am too livid about once again being told what i (or my lover) can and/or cannot do with our bodies to start investigating what the extra money slam of freezing and quarantining the sperm of potential bio-dad would cause to our already depleted bank account.
Fuck the government...essentially they are once again giving straight people a financial break. The implications of their flawed health code do more than simply demoralize me as a gay woman; they also place an unfair financial burden on me--it would be much, much cheaper to use fresh sperm for the in office IUI.
But, fuck me too. how can I even begin to bitch about the cost when I have health insurance and so many people in this country do not? So, there it is bringing my rage full circle right back to my owning blathering heart.
Oh, and just so those of you who are not familiar with Michigan politics/legal shit know, we feel that it would severely jeopardize our already precariously constructed legal documents to try to pretend that K is sexually intimate with potential bio-dad. See, if we ever do get pregnant (that is kk ever does have a kid), I will have NO-ZILCH-NONE-AT-FUCKING-ALL rights to the kid here in MI. We do not have second-parent adoption; we have a constitutional amendment voted on by the MI public that bans gay-marriage for all time; we have an extremely conservative court system.
Basically, k and I have drafted up some legal documents that when push comes to shove could mean nothing at all.
If kk had a kid and then left this planet for the spirit world and then her dad or brother wanted to go after the kid, well they could and I might lose. Or if kk does have a kid and we end up in some conservative county in this state--that i keep loving for many reasons--and the kid gets hurt and k is not with us and i take the kid to the hospital they could be like, "you need to take a seat in the waiting room. (essentially, you don't matter--you queer fuck.)"
And now, I will end this ramble. but not without first pointing out that all of the rant above is deeply connected to desiring recognition and rights from an already extensively flawed system--i do not like the institution of marriage or the "rights" that have been built into it, and I have serious issues with the representative "democratic" government in this country. I believe a system based on representation will always keep many, many people and groups of people on the fringes, invisible and oppressed. So, my rant in its entirety is me wanting just for a minute to be part of the status quo and that in and of itself makes me sad...
Sunday, August 3, 2008
suck nuts
not that I like to.
but I am sad—oh yes—once again.
because—you guessed it—k started bleeding Wednesday, yet again.
I’ve sort of lost count now but I think this is 13 times with no success.
so. suck.
she got her blood drawn friday for all the hormone testing.
we dropped a cup to potential bio dad for the sperm testing.
and Friday k will go get the ultra sound, etc.
I am also mad, not just sad, that I ever got in the business of wanting a kid.
cause it is getting too fucking complicated and I am tired of it.
i really did not have my hopes up this time i am convinced that something is up with kk's insides or that something has gone amiss with bio dad's fluids, but it is all a bit emotionally exhausting and for some reason i seem to take it worse than my lovely. i mean i have even started seriously contemplating what it would be like for me to be pregnant for 9 months and how i would need to learn to pack my fears in a tight little bag and banish them to the place beyond the atmosphere. this contemplating is strange territory for me and very premature, but these visions of a pregnant me are haunting my head and they are weird indeed!
but I am sad—oh yes—once again.
because—you guessed it—k started bleeding Wednesday, yet again.
I’ve sort of lost count now but I think this is 13 times with no success.
so. suck.
she got her blood drawn friday for all the hormone testing.
we dropped a cup to potential bio dad for the sperm testing.
and Friday k will go get the ultra sound, etc.
I am also mad, not just sad, that I ever got in the business of wanting a kid.
cause it is getting too fucking complicated and I am tired of it.
i really did not have my hopes up this time i am convinced that something is up with kk's insides or that something has gone amiss with bio dad's fluids, but it is all a bit emotionally exhausting and for some reason i seem to take it worse than my lovely. i mean i have even started seriously contemplating what it would be like for me to be pregnant for 9 months and how i would need to learn to pack my fears in a tight little bag and banish them to the place beyond the atmosphere. this contemplating is strange territory for me and very premature, but these visions of a pregnant me are haunting my head and they are weird indeed!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
You’re the meaning in my life; you’re the inspiration
Chicago easy listening...
Was piped at just the right level into the ear of the receptionist and therefore the ears of all waiting in the drab/way too bright clinic waiting room for me to think how annoying it would be to listen to a lite muzak/lite rock mix all day long and still simultaneously smile and sing along.
Yesterday, was our first visit to the reproductive endocrinologist. It was a sullen adventure. One full of sitting on our asses waiting for k’s name to be called and for yours truly to step in an awkward, pretending I do not quite have tits, stride behind her to the “room” for consultation.
We waited patiently as the bad radio station bleated out tune after tune of sentimental, hetero love songs.
The receptionist lady and the other clinicy people were sweet as jello based pie and as we waited among the slews of straight folks trying to get their babies on, our friend, another lesbian, walked through the door and set my heart at ease, just cause she was there and that made three girls in the room who like to have lovely sex with other girls rather than the boring old cock devotion that was way over-represented in this repro clinic.
It took an hour and 15 minutes to be called back to the room.
Then it took some more minutes for the resident to come into the room with a boy medical student trailing her. The resident said to k, “we are going to ask some questions and go over some stuff with you and then dr. r will come on in and provide the consult. Is that okay with you?’
Apparently, this was the wrong question to ask kk cause she did not answer and I chimed in with a “that’s fine.”
See k was in an enormously bad mood. She still is. She is tired of heterosexism and heterosexist laws and rules and regulations. The questionnaire she filled out for these people was totally void of questions regarding queer people’s sex lives or practices or anything at all about gayness. I wrote a snarky comment on the back of the sheet and I am sure all the doctors and students and residents got a chuckle.
So, k got extra peeved when the U of M poke and prod and learn crew showed up for the repro consult. I was not too concerned; the resident was really quite kind and the boy medical student was entertaining to watch cause he was squirmy and nervous and probably a bit fascinated with the butch/femme duo before him.
They asked questions and listened to k’s heart together. Yes, she had two stethoscopes on her body at once. Then they left and k was testy with me and mad and drained.
Then the doctor came in and he was very nice and smart and k was impressed with him. He told us again about the fresh sperm dilemma imbedded in our MI health code. But he framed it like this: “If you are sexually intimate with the person providing sperm then we can use fresh (washed) sperm to do an IUI, otherwise it is simply illegal for us to do it.” Then he went on and on about how it would be much simpler for all involved if we used a sperm bank with frozen sperm so we would not have to worry about any of this or otherwise we would have to freeze our donor’s sperm for six months and make sure it was a okay for us to use and then do an IUI at his clinic.
Of course, all of this is premature. We do not know what’s up with k’s insides, so that is the next step. K will have her uterus and tubes looked at—they will shoot some saline up her and do an ultra sound; she will get some more blood tests to make sure she has good hormone production and we will get the sperm tested to make sure it is swimming forward.
The doctor said he really does not think it is low progesterone; he looked at the reading from last month and said it is borderline low but not too low…
We like the fresh sperm do it ourselves method best. And really I refuse to get locked up in the big business of reproduction unless we absolutely have to. Our insurance only covers so much and we are far from wealthy people. We will attempt some messing with hormones and cleaning out of tubes etc. if needed. And then…I really do not know what.
Was piped at just the right level into the ear of the receptionist and therefore the ears of all waiting in the drab/way too bright clinic waiting room for me to think how annoying it would be to listen to a lite muzak/lite rock mix all day long and still simultaneously smile and sing along.
Yesterday, was our first visit to the reproductive endocrinologist. It was a sullen adventure. One full of sitting on our asses waiting for k’s name to be called and for yours truly to step in an awkward, pretending I do not quite have tits, stride behind her to the “room” for consultation.
We waited patiently as the bad radio station bleated out tune after tune of sentimental, hetero love songs.
The receptionist lady and the other clinicy people were sweet as jello based pie and as we waited among the slews of straight folks trying to get their babies on, our friend, another lesbian, walked through the door and set my heart at ease, just cause she was there and that made three girls in the room who like to have lovely sex with other girls rather than the boring old cock devotion that was way over-represented in this repro clinic.
It took an hour and 15 minutes to be called back to the room.
Then it took some more minutes for the resident to come into the room with a boy medical student trailing her. The resident said to k, “we are going to ask some questions and go over some stuff with you and then dr. r will come on in and provide the consult. Is that okay with you?’
Apparently, this was the wrong question to ask kk cause she did not answer and I chimed in with a “that’s fine.”
See k was in an enormously bad mood. She still is. She is tired of heterosexism and heterosexist laws and rules and regulations. The questionnaire she filled out for these people was totally void of questions regarding queer people’s sex lives or practices or anything at all about gayness. I wrote a snarky comment on the back of the sheet and I am sure all the doctors and students and residents got a chuckle.
So, k got extra peeved when the U of M poke and prod and learn crew showed up for the repro consult. I was not too concerned; the resident was really quite kind and the boy medical student was entertaining to watch cause he was squirmy and nervous and probably a bit fascinated with the butch/femme duo before him.
They asked questions and listened to k’s heart together. Yes, she had two stethoscopes on her body at once. Then they left and k was testy with me and mad and drained.
Then the doctor came in and he was very nice and smart and k was impressed with him. He told us again about the fresh sperm dilemma imbedded in our MI health code. But he framed it like this: “If you are sexually intimate with the person providing sperm then we can use fresh (washed) sperm to do an IUI, otherwise it is simply illegal for us to do it.” Then he went on and on about how it would be much simpler for all involved if we used a sperm bank with frozen sperm so we would not have to worry about any of this or otherwise we would have to freeze our donor’s sperm for six months and make sure it was a okay for us to use and then do an IUI at his clinic.
Of course, all of this is premature. We do not know what’s up with k’s insides, so that is the next step. K will have her uterus and tubes looked at—they will shoot some saline up her and do an ultra sound; she will get some more blood tests to make sure she has good hormone production and we will get the sperm tested to make sure it is swimming forward.
The doctor said he really does not think it is low progesterone; he looked at the reading from last month and said it is borderline low but not too low…
We like the fresh sperm do it ourselves method best. And really I refuse to get locked up in the big business of reproduction unless we absolutely have to. Our insurance only covers so much and we are far from wealthy people. We will attempt some messing with hormones and cleaning out of tubes etc. if needed. And then…I really do not know what.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
teary eyes
I am trying to figure out if the persistent tears-at-the-edge-of-my-eyes feeling is from work, other parts of my life, the fact that k is spotting once again, or a mixture of the list.
It is gorgeous out. the sun is bellowing brightness like a sky trumpet and summer is full with sound and sight and scent. And here i am wallowing in a weepiness that refuses to let up.
last night i cried for two hours straight. today tears just keep leaking out of my eyes. and i can't think quite right and i am supposed to be writing for work and it is not going so well.
we did find out k has low progesterone, so maybe that is why nothing is sticking. at this point, well, at this point...i just have stopped thinking anything much is really going to happen.
i really cannot attribute this overwhelming sadness to another failed attempt at getting pregnant because i have been in a good place with it all...I know all emotions come to pass and new ones creep in, but this damn teary eyed blurriness is just fucking relentless.
maybe my body got whacked out when i fell down some stairs on sunday night and bruised my ass and arm.
who knows.
who knows.
who knows.
It is gorgeous out. the sun is bellowing brightness like a sky trumpet and summer is full with sound and sight and scent. And here i am wallowing in a weepiness that refuses to let up.
last night i cried for two hours straight. today tears just keep leaking out of my eyes. and i can't think quite right and i am supposed to be writing for work and it is not going so well.
we did find out k has low progesterone, so maybe that is why nothing is sticking. at this point, well, at this point...i just have stopped thinking anything much is really going to happen.
i really cannot attribute this overwhelming sadness to another failed attempt at getting pregnant because i have been in a good place with it all...I know all emotions come to pass and new ones creep in, but this damn teary eyed blurriness is just fucking relentless.
maybe my body got whacked out when i fell down some stairs on sunday night and bruised my ass and arm.
who knows.
who knows.
who knows.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
the lunar eclipse and the suckiness called cancer
I wanted to wake this morning to a red stain on the sky—a remembrance of the lunar eclipse that graced this universe last night.
But there was only sunshine which is color enough when I think about the dark days of this winter and its seemingly never ending grip on the land and the people living here.
We stood outside in freezing cold temperatures and took in the shadow of this planet spreading browns and reds over the surface of the moon. As we stood there looking up into a perfectly clear night sky, I could not help but think about kk’s grandma C and the reality that she will not be here the next time a lunar eclipse unfolds in December 2010.
On Tuesday, K’s grandma went into the hospital cause her stomach was in serious pain. On Wednesday the doctors determined it was her gall bladder, so they operated. Her gall bladder had spewed out stones into her abdominal cavity, so the surgeon poked around and happened upon a huge mass in her pancreas. He took a biopsy of it, but let the family know that it is most likely cancer, and no matter what it is, it is inoperable.
So, once again cancer comes a calling kk’s family. Her dad is so sad and pissed. His immediate family consists/ed of two kids, a wife, a brother, and a mama. His wife gets cancer and dies; his brother gets cancer and dies; his ma gets cancer and then will die. She is old, but does it have to be fucking cancer? A family can only take so much of the disease. Why not a heart attack or a car wreck?
Kk is so sad cause she wanted to have a child that her grandma actually got to hold… Maybe just maybe by some miracle (I only believe in them about 1% of the time) that can still happen. But tumors on pancreases don’t make for long life spans, able bodies, or holding.
We are heading up to Cheboygan, MI tomorrow morning to hang with kk’s dad, brother, aunt, and grandma c. Mostly, we are going for her dad, at this point, cause grandma c is all doped up and out of it and her dad needs us.
At least the lunar eclipse was like a divine intervention last night. It loomed above us--a red shadow creeping slowly across the brightness of the earth’s moon; a beauteous reminder of our ant-like size amidst a vast and sprawling universe; a reminder of my thankfulness for life and being able to get mad at diseases and death and still being able to come back to the acceptance of this cycle of life we are bound to.
(We are trying to make it back by Sunday morning to inject some sperms, but with the stress of impending death of dear loved one hanging over our hearts, perhaps we should not even try this time around…)
Monday, January 28, 2008
crank
I am cranky.
Yes, cranky.
Maybe it’s the flovent (the steroid I am taking for this bronchial shit that has been invading my chest). Maybe, it’s the fact that for five nights straight I barely slept and then for five other nights I slept very poorly. Maybe it’s that many people in my family (including my mother and father) will never really get how saying “oh” (and nothing more) when I state that it is nearing our 6 or 7 or 8-year anniversary is not a nice response. Or, maybe it is that same family’s (including my mother and father) inability to realize that not asking even one time how this trying to conceive process is going is really insensitive and rude and just plain fucking shameful. Cause, maybe just maybe, I know that they would really rather that we did not try to have a kid at all. After all, two women who love and fuck and love some more really should not be raising children together…
Yes, I’m cranky.
Maybe, it’s that I am going to start my period any moment.
Maybe, it’s that I simply want me being gay to be a god-damn back burner issue—not some dramatic addition to the drama of everyday living. I just want to fucking be.
Yes, I am crank.
Yes, cranky.
Maybe it’s the flovent (the steroid I am taking for this bronchial shit that has been invading my chest). Maybe, it’s the fact that for five nights straight I barely slept and then for five other nights I slept very poorly. Maybe it’s that many people in my family (including my mother and father) will never really get how saying “oh” (and nothing more) when I state that it is nearing our 6 or 7 or 8-year anniversary is not a nice response. Or, maybe it is that same family’s (including my mother and father) inability to realize that not asking even one time how this trying to conceive process is going is really insensitive and rude and just plain fucking shameful. Cause, maybe just maybe, I know that they would really rather that we did not try to have a kid at all. After all, two women who love and fuck and love some more really should not be raising children together…
Yes, I’m cranky.
Maybe, it’s that I am going to start my period any moment.
Maybe, it’s that I simply want me being gay to be a god-damn back burner issue—not some dramatic addition to the drama of everyday living. I just want to fucking be.
Yes, I am crank.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
not this time
it did not take again this time around.
Maybe it is better that it did not happen during this really stressful time of year. It is stressful for many reasons:
1. anniversary of the passing of kk’s mama (in one week it will be 6 years)
2. work (it has been crazy)
3. winter blues
Kk will see an acupuncturist next month.
and I will peer at her cervix with more diligence after she ends her period.
Maybe I should get a magnifying glass.
And we will keep on trying and keep on trying.
In May, my insurance will pay (up to so much) for her to visit a fertility specialist cause we will have been trying for a year…
But my fingers are crossed that something or other might happen before May. If not, well, we will keep on traversing through this interesting terrain.
Maybe it is better that it did not happen during this really stressful time of year. It is stressful for many reasons:
1. anniversary of the passing of kk’s mama (in one week it will be 6 years)
2. work (it has been crazy)
3. winter blues
Kk will see an acupuncturist next month.
and I will peer at her cervix with more diligence after she ends her period.
Maybe I should get a magnifying glass.
And we will keep on trying and keep on trying.
In May, my insurance will pay (up to so much) for her to visit a fertility specialist cause we will have been trying for a year…
But my fingers are crossed that something or other might happen before May. If not, well, we will keep on traversing through this interesting terrain.
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