count down

k. got her shot last night at ten p.m and will be retrieving and mixing and transferring. i am excited to hear how it goes and hopeful that it will go well.

on my own fertility homefront which is a phrase that makes absolutely no sense... I am less optimistic. I am back to no periods and seemingly without a plan at least a concrete one. That makes me blue.

But I have no idea what to do.

humph.

Vive La France

One of the best aspects of life in rural France is that there are so few mirrors here. There are a few, but I hardly have time to glance at them and if I do, it doesn’t seem to bother me that I look like a fat, country farmer’s wife. In fact, I quite like it. Of course, this comfortable vanity-free living will vanish before the wheels of the plane have touched the ground but in the meantime, I am certainly enjoying it. So much so that I don’t hesitate to eat cheese sandwiches, ice cream, and apple tarts all day long. Full fat yogurt, sugary tea, cherries and cream, the more, the merrier.
I’ve completely stopped watching the news, although the one or two stories I’ve caught involve crimes so minor, no U.S. media would bother to touch them. It’s refreshing to see that Europe remains much safer than our gun-laden country. I saw a five minute segment on a car crash!
Here, the weather is the top story, every day because it determines what can and can’t be accomplished in the garden or on the farms. For us, it determines our running schedule, although not really as we’ve run in the rain more than the sunshine and it’s made no difference at all.
Here, news includes a mentally deranged fly whose chaotic flight patterns and incessant buzzing leave us all wondering if it will die soon or if it’s some kind of new hybrid fly, pumped up on hornet poison. Andrew has tried to get it many times with a large yellow towel, but this seems only to make it stronger. It’s buzzing around now and if I’m quiet enough, it can probably be heard through the computer.
Global-warming is no stranger to rural France sadly, the pumpkins are already ripe and they shouldn’t be. Everything is a few months off schedule.
The philosophical hornet-man, who came to take the nest out of the chimney, gave us a fine lecture of the value of work and the lack of morals taking over the world. He said you can set 50 Euros on a table and they don’t mean a thing. Take some rocks out from the driveway and they don’t mean a thing. Waah them off, discard the dirty ones, polish them up, and now you have something. It’s the work that makes things valuable. Sounds like a socialist rant now but it sounded oh so wise in French and so unlike the typical MBA American every man for himself speech. A cultural indoctrination that I prefer perhaps. Plus, find me a hornet-man in the States who waxes philosophical about the state of the nation. Although I know a furniture guy who will…
It all started because he mentioned that he was trying to get his kids to value work instead of the value of money. Fat luck.

The Cess Pool

Fine. I live in Cobble Hill. Carbon copy of Park Slope with a few more Italian restaurants. The carbon copy aspect is becoming more true--we're getting their Tea Lounge, they're getting our Sweet Melissa. Anyway, point is a certain amount of stroller, double stroller forgiveness is to be expected. But today was intolerable.

Breakfasting at Naidres (again, Park Slope has one, so do we)... I could not enjoy my yogurt + Mark Twain because this nursing coach was instructing en haut voix about how mothers shouldn't swap breasts so much because the babies will drink too much of the sweet liquid that comes from the breast prior to the actual breast milk. Next, I got to hear about various latching positions and the best way to vary the weight. A woman in the corner and I exchanged knowing glancecs. I left.

Only to go to the Cobble Hill park to try and enjoy a fifeteen minute coffee break with my working-from-home husband. But while he was releasing his anxiety about his job, I was growing ever more tense as three women with three newborns strolled by. Meanwhile, the park, as always was filled with toddlers and other new mothers.

So, we left. Only to walk down the street and pass not one, not two, but three pregnant women (I bet my husband didn't even notice). Later, on the train, a pregnant woman got on, and another one was walking down the stairs as we passed her to go for a jog.

Is EVERYONE pregnant except me? I think I even saw a few lactating men. I swear.

This Just In

Maybe it's Charlie's Angels, maybe it 's yoga, but something serious is going down in ManHattan and the ladies in black are on it.
I went to the 'shwick today and felt the pain. the enjoyable part was reading the tagged up advertising on the L platform. There is a gender environmentalist out there who wants you to STOP CONSUMING. A refreshing change from all the Blood tags.

Also entertaining was seeing that the new buildings across from the school were already tagged and the windows were already smashed. I think we had a pool going on that before the construction fence was even down, but I can't remember who placed their bets or what they were.

Besides that Mrs. Lincoln, the hood is the hood. A little quieter somehow, or maybe that is just because I wasn't there during prime schooling hours. All in all, I'm in no hurry for the 30th. No sirree bob.

The Height of the Belly

This was the worst of it. I couldn't even see my privies. All for science. 2nd time is the charm? ack.

Crash

I saw the scariest car crash today and it was right on the corner of my block. It's hard to determine the scariest part. I think it was the sound. Two enormous SUV's, one rounding a corner too fast, hit the bumper of the other forcing the driver off the road, onto the sidewalk, into a tree, through the steel fence and finally into the brick of a brownstone. The whole event took about ten seconds but that odd neurology that occurs during traumatic moments made time slow to a crawl. No, weirder than that. It was more of a suspension of time. We were looking at shoes and books at a stoop sale and then we were waiting to see if the driver would come out from the smashed vehicle (he did not) and somewhere in the middle was this awful crashing sound, the collapsing of rubber and metal and glass.

It's easy to think that sidewalks are safe. That's the place for pedestrians. But the random chaos that is actually in control reminded me that a sidewalk is no place for a safety dance.

Tell people that you love them. In case you never see them again. Your last words should be ones you can live with. Mind you, I said this all to Andrew and felt his internal eye roll. I guess I'm annoying. But I've lost my mother, my grandmother, and my grandfather and I know how permanent death is. The older I get, the more I cling to the memories I have because they are all I have. Perhaps that is why I feel so sad when my friends talk of moving away from New York. Our lives are already so vastly separate. The years will go by quickly now. I'd like us to not take one another for granted.

I worry that we rely too much on e-mail and telephones. What if we all move to different parts of the galaxy and power becomes too costly? Now there's a random worry for ya. But these are apocalyptic times even for a non-believer.

Better go play with my jelly roll now...I don't think sit-ups will even help.

Murky August Swamp

It's the promise of rain that won't come. Much like the promise of the jog I won't take. The vacation that will not arrive, the school year that will not be postponed, the diet I can not follow. That is what August is. Although the heat has finally broken, it still feels like a hammer to the skull each time I walk outdoors and my odor is in escapable.

My friend, her husband and their babe are moving from New York to Philly and somehow it feels collosal. It is as though the act of leaving the city is somehow a physical manifestation of a larger departure. The comfortable years my friends and I have enjoyed in New York are slowly being replaced with the insular lives of families and the solitude that is the make up of middle age. Each person carries a burden and our outings feel like respite, even consolation. I wouldn't say we are unhappy, I would say that we've embraced bittersweet (I still long for milk though I appreciate dark with new vigor).

France is around the corner. There is the immediate fear of toothpaste, hair gel, liquids and what that really means, but beyond that there is a greater distress. My summer time is ending quickly. My clear head is about to get murky.

Needled by Choice

I went to acupuncture today. The needles seemed tiny. See? I did get something out of this whole process after all. Although, not entirely as I can't say I felt love for them or anything, I just didn't break out in hives.

My sugar-free efforts are at an all time low. I baked a tray of lemon bars and ate them all. I talked myself into running all day and then couldn't even manage to change into my running clothes. It's not even hot. I have no excuse. I just don't feel like it. I prefer sitting around in the comfort of this house, listening to the fan twirl and watching Grizzly Man. I'll go tomorrow.

Stumble, stumble, walk, fall, stumble, stumble, walk. Life seems long.

Percodan

All editors wish to be writers. All people who write wish to be writers. It's a shameful business. The wise ones keep it to themselves. The needy ones share it because they suffer great insecurities.

I perked myself up today by reviewing some of my old writing, by contacting a shrink, by going to the library and placing holds on books, by applying for a writing class and hoping between yoga mondays, running tuesdays, and writing wednesdays my work life will not be unbearable.

it's my form of perkidan. I also read somewhere today that the common ground for all of the school shootings including Columbine was ADD/ADHD drugs, like ritalin. hmm..maybe I should put away the sleeping tablets and the zoloft and I should go ask alice, I think she'll know...

Yellow Paint

It's the stupid shit that gets to me. Today, in one of my cleaning rants, I decided that I had to get rid of all of the unwearable clothes and take them to charity. But in doing so, I became acutely aware of how originally I'd planned to really clean up the spare room/office just in case. I was going to have additional outlets placed in for electrical appliances and buy a table for the printer and these sorts of things because I wanted to prepare the room. I had visions of sea horses and night stars and colored lamps and polka dot rugs and the thought that I neededn't bother suddenly brought me to the verge of tears.

I wonder if this is what life will be like for me now or at least until the next hopeful jaunt? Constant jolts of what could be or what might have been.

People have children in part, to add meaning to their own lives, to give what has been imparted to them and to hope that the next generation goes farther. Without that hope or that perspective suffering seems inevitable. How, then, do I reconcile the present situation? A lot of cheap red wine and a few copies of People magazine?

ZENish

I can't decide if my stomach is actually shrinking or if I am stuck with this belly now for good. I went back to yoga today and it felt restorative. I'm trying not to think of the whole IVF saga as a failure. I'm trying to see it from the perspective of the medical industry. They learned how to treat my ovaries and the next time they'll get the dosage right and things will work out.

It's just that the dread of the school year is upon me. I know what it is like to try to pro-create and work in the inner city at the same time. It's a terrible partnership. My whole body shuts down and just tries to cope with the day to day survival. The stress consumes me. The horrible lives of my students, the awful feelings of competition and petty rivalries among the staff, the egos, the monotony, and the futility of it all.

Thank God we're going to France to escape it all for a few weeks. I'll do my best to create coping mechanisms while I am there. I'll set my outside of school goals. I'll hear myself think. Although all I hear right now is static.

There is this random sputter from a tripped wire in the alarm system in our house. We can't seem to find it to disable it. It's so off putting. It makes me insane. This house contains so many unfinished jobs and sometimes I feel that Andrew is indifferent to their completion. Our bathroom door has not had a handle since we moved in.

I passed a Zen temple today and thought to myself that maybe I'll give it a try. I'm desperate enough to seek religion even if I'm skeptical. I certainly have nothing to lose. Besides, it's good to try new things.

Used Minty Dental Floss

I love my house with its quirky alarm bells that squak at odd intervals. I love my husband who is a manic runner consumed by work and jet lag but never so inspired to help around the house. I love the push and pull of our emotions as one or the other of us struggles with the discontent that must be middle age. I love waking up each day to a fresh start, a chance to try again. That's all that living is, a series of new beginnings. I took a shower and I thought about washing all the bruises and poison down the drain which will clog along with all the pieces of hair that fall out until once again we have to call the plumber. We live in a house that will outlive us.

Some day we will have a child. Some day soon I hope, but some day for certain.

Until then, I have to figure out what to do with today. I get to pout and cry and feel pissy about the bloated stomach, the sore breasts and the added weight, but they'll go away and there is still my reflection starting back at me wondering what I'll come up with next.

This loss feels like any other, something to overcome, to grieve and to reflect upon. I'm angry, I'm frustrated, but I know that it will pass. What I need now is some inspiration.

What the FUCK is wrong with me?

My blood levels have started to rise again. Not drop, rise? Am I a freak of nature? The doctor wants to see me tomorrow and in addition to my daily vampire draw, he wants to take some photos. I am not in a polaroid frame of mind thank you very much. Could I have spontaneously ovulated and it is all over? That would cause a surge too, right? I feel doomed. I am sure something is wrong. I can't stay optimistic. Even chocolate depresses me because I know it just makes the PCOS worse.

Bird In Cage

This morning I saw a little black bird in a bamboo cage sitting on top of a car. Three men were standing on the corner trying to figure out where the shadows would fall so that they might get some relief from the heat. It was 8 a.m., 86 degress and easy to behold universal capitivity.

Clogged

How much metamucil can one girl take? I should be growing psyllium husks and buying up the squeezable charmin. I am not. The label suggests 3 teaspoons a day and results in 72 hours. Uh, no. Should I up the ante? This is a side effect of Lupron and a particularly in opportune one for me.

My friend started talking about ice cream and she got it in my head so badly that when I got off the train I went to Ben and Jerry's. I blame her totally. Mint ice cream no less because that was what she was waxing on about and I am weak. My thighs are stuck together and I am not working out so ice cream is a really terrible choice.

Control. Janet Jackson. I have none. I had some, I lost it. I used to be ok with the whole we have no control thing. But I've regressed. I desire some again. It's almost worse knowing how futile it is than when I used to think I could control my life. Ha!

I want a new job. I want the appliances in my house to function. I want the ants and flies to return to nature. I need a plumber for my life although I imagine like lawyers, real estate agents, and shark feeders, a life plumber would rip me off too.

Going Down?

Yes! Direction reversal, yesterday was the peak and HCG here we come! Never, ever did I predict such enthusiasm about receiving a large needle in the bum, but there you have it.

I was reminded today about how the behaviors of new parents when my friend screamed at me when I called her home phone instead of her mobile. May I behave otherwise. May I adjust more gracefully.

It's August and for once I'm more distracted by the looming misery of returning to work than I am my adventures in fertility experimentation. I dread returning to teach. I dread the language of poverty, the sounds, smells and daily patience testing interactions with the needy and the greedy. I can't bare the injury to my fragile, fragile body and mind. I don't feel recovered. I am not rested. It is highly likely that I will have an awful year. The class I will teach bores me and I haven't started it yet. I'm in the wrong school. The cliques and the competition and the endless favortism, how will I ever come out unscathed?

I spent MORE money today. Ants are crawling in my bathroom. Flies are multiplying in my kitchen. Why does this happen when my husband is away?

It's not just my blood levels that are going down.