Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Not avoiding you...

Has it been over a week? Didn't I say I wouldn't let that happen? Ugh. You know how I hate to get on here and wallow, right? Well, let's just say that wallowing seems to be my new hobby. So, while I'm not avoiding you, personally, I have been avoiding sharing my new hobby with you all.

Oh sure, I get bursts of energy and motivation! They just seem to only last about 20 minutes before I find myself sitting at my desk staring out into the ether with no desire to do anything. I don't want to cook, don't want to clean, don't want to write, don't want to run, don't want to eat, don't want to watch TV. I can put it together long enough to read a little bit, but usually end up falling asleep.

I think I might be depressed.

And I fucking HATE depression. I thought I had finally gotten rid of that old hag! But here she is, twirling her smelly fingers into my hair, singing her old songs and playing her old instrument. I can't even get it up for Solitaire right now. How's that for shitty?

I did write some stuff down the other day to tell you. And I did have some things I forgot to mention. So, I guess I'll do it now. But don't be expectin' no pixie dust, ya hear? Cuz until I get some mental Viagra, I won't be doing my verbal striptease. The Joelie Show is on a sort of hiatus, I guess.

So, one thing I forgot to mention is how surreal things are sometimes over here. As if the OB/GYN answering his cell phone while probing my uterus with a wand isn't surreal enough! The first time we went to the hospital, when I was bleeding but the egg sac was still in there, we were walking up to the maternity ward and saw a chick standing outside smoking a cigarette. She was all punk and boots and black fishnet tights and whatnot and I made a joke about them having a smoking area right outside the doors of a maternity ward for all the young mothers who might need a nic break. Then, the chick, who we had only seen from behind, turns and evolves into this upside-down turtle--HUGE pregnant belly and a cigarette posed between two fingers. I was overcome with shock and judgement--so much so that I turned my head back to her and shot her a look. I'm NEVER judgemental. I'm always like, "Hey buddy, live and let live, yo." I've been in so many situations where I was making stupid mistakes cuz that was just the path I was on. But that chick standing there smoking, that just threw a rock in my chain, yo. I just didn't know how to handle it. Especially since I lost my little Sequel the next day.

Speaking of... So, when Sam and I were on our way BACK to the hospital, everything was intense and scary and sad because I was, in fact, having contractions and I knew that I was losing our little Sequel. Right then and there. Sam and I were all silent and tense and not moving, as if holding still would make it all stop. And as we were sitting at the red light in front of our building, a guy pulls up in a white Smart car (you know what those are? those little go-cart-in-a-shell cars with room for only two people? no purses, no briefcases, no lap-top bags, just two small people?) with his window rolled down. He had one arm hanging out, a cigarette in his hand and rap music blaring. He was rapping along with the music, making angry faces. I was holding my gut, and onto my last hope, trying to compartmentalize the horror I felt at what was happening and I looked over and saw that guy and was hit with such a wave of mirth I burst into peals of laughter. Like a Mack truck, y'all. I just couldn't help it. This little white dude, this Vanilla Ice, in his little pimped out go-cart with his music blaring and his angry little face, taking himself so seriously... You'd have thought he was a clown sent straight from Heaven to relieve the shittiness of the situation. I laughed all the way to the parking garage of the hospital.


So, I'm looking down at the stuff I had written down after my follow-up appointment (because all appointments must take place on Tuesday, the one day I have no children in the apartment...also the day my dear husband takes me out for lunch), but the list looks stupid and no longer funny today. See, if I'd just keep a Blogger window open and every time I thought of something, came in here and wrote it out to you... THAT might make for interesting times. Or not. It might end up totally random.

So, I'm not going to go on about the food I cooked this week--nothing new, just the same recipes, but with a new twist of experience--and I'm not going to talk about Obama's first book--because of which I do now love him, just not in the same way as all you Members of the Church of Oblahma do--and I'm not going to talk about how excited I am that my Grumps is coming in April or that my Thither is coming here in March or that we are going to go to the States for a Farm Vacation in August. All that stuff would just bore you.

Instead, I'm going to sign off and wallow some more. And maybe read.

3 comments:

Erin said...

Hey, Paxil is my mental Viagra, yo. I feel ya. Sending you lots of seratonin-laced warm fuzzies.

xoxo

xlordashx said...

A shitty thing happened to you. You have every right to be depressed. Just make sure you're taking care of yourself.

Erica said...

painkillers+sad event=depression, for everyone. I think you're justified for a while.

Then when you're ready, turn on some great music and dance around the house with all your cuties.

My mom smoked while she was pregnant... but that was 30+ yrs ago, for some reason that's really disturbing now.