Question?

Why is it that every single pregnancy site tells me that I am feeling huge, clumsy, ugly, blah blah blah? I mean, this pregnancy thing pretty much generally sucks, but I don't particularly feel like any of those things. In fact, one of the few upsides of this whole alien transportation receptacle deal is that I have had virtually no acne (never really had it to begin with, but there was always a pimple or two hanging out somewhere), and now I have an excuse for being rather rotund. The funny thing is, I have only gained about 4 pounds from my initial weight, thanks to the oh-so-lovely experience that is morning sickness. It's not as fun to walk, because it hurts, but other than that I don't feel any more prone to mishaps than normal. So I don't know. Maybe they're talking about all those skinny wenches who freak if they gain 5 lbs. In which case, yeah, they might feel like a (insert large ungainly object here). Considering all the other crap going on, though, I feel like I should get some recognition for what few benefits there are to this whole ordeal. Just something to wonder about.

--Dragon Read more!

White Space

I write. Poems, journals, essays (I am the essay queen), random half-stories that I never finish. I long to fill empty spaces with words. Not that this is very inspiring example, but I think I have a fair amount of creative talent. However, I can't seem to muster up enough courage to believe that I might have enough of it to pay for my supper. So I don't. My mom has always encouraged me to be a writer or journalist. I don't think I could, even with a degree and all that pomp and circumstance (after, all, it's just a piece of paper). I don't think I could rely on my creativity to regularly come up with something intersting, entertaining, and thought provoking on command. I don't write every day. I don't have enough to write about. Even with local and global events, there's only so much one can say. There are times when words pour from my head like a river in spring. Other times, it's more like a dusty wash in high summer. It's funny, when I write something I long for feedback. Something more substantial than just "I like it." I want to know WHY you like it. I want to know what I could do better. I want to have someone rip it to shreds and then tell me if it really is all that satisfactory after all. Ath the same time, I'm so afraid of what someone might say. If I let someone read my poems, I always ask, "What'd it make you think of?" Sometimes I get a vague response detailing what I was intending to convey, on far rarer occasions I get an interesting and completely unexpected viewpoint. I love those. I love it when I say something without it. I love to draw pictures in people's heads. I don't want you to tell me what I see, I want you to tell me what YOU see.

So I'm going to try an experiment. I'm pretty sure only one or two people read this, so I don't honestly expect a response, but if anyone cares to, tell me what this makes you think of:

--Slipstream--

Stealing these days from
Some other
Place
As the melody
Wavers high and
Slips
Into a thousand
Shards of memory
Another phrase to
Take me back--
And my thoughts slipstream
Into this half-hearted
Madness
Stealing these
Days
--Golden days
Each though takes me
Just a bit further
Away
And reaching back
Into memory
Heavenly, or at least
I tell myself
It was better
So much
Better
Take me back...

--dragon Read more!

It's Better To Face These Kinds Of Things With A Sense Of Poise And Rationality

Whenever I want to write about something that I think makes me look crazy I'm afraid to. I don't know why. Not very many people read this. And no one who knows me even knows this blog exists. I guess I'm afraid this will come around and bite me in the ass some how, someday.

The past few weeks at work have completely sucked. It's been really stressful, which I can generally handle, but on top of that the fact that I have to spend 6-8 hours a day standing in pretty much the same spot has been killing me. My legs and feet really hurt afterwards. Let me say that I am a complete wimp when it comes to pain. I cannot tolerate it at all. When I get off work I can barely walk and it's difficult to climb the stairs (I live on the second floor of my apartment complex). It's gotten to the point where I start freaking out and crying and getting really upset about an hour, hour and a half before I have to go to work most days. They're not like fullblown panic attacks (and believe me, I know those quite well), but I can feel the potential for these episodes to develop into panic attacks.

Sometimes I would purposely show up to work late in hopes of getting sent home or suspended. It's gotten so bad that I started imagining things I could do so I wouldn't have to go in to work. Bad, dangerous, drastic things. Like purposely tripping and falling down the stairs so I end up in the hospital.

I tried explain the pain and how much I hate it and dread going to work to my midwife. She said that unfortunately, it doesn't qualify as a threat to the pregnancy and I can only go early disability if it is a threat to my pregnancy. I was afraid of telling her the things that I've begun imagining. I didn't know what to do. Finally I told my mom what I was thinking and feeling, and she told me to quit, that we would find some other way to get me on early disability. I called my boss and told her I wanted to quit and explained why. She told me not to come in that night and asked me to come back the next day and talk to the main manager and see if we could work something out, considering my leave date is only 3 weeks away.

I still didn't know what to do. I was afraid to talk to the main manager, and I need the money. I couldn't just go on unpaid leave. I decided to try calling my midwife again to tell her the way I was feeling, thinking that anything would be better than going back to work. I had to leave a message and didn't want to explain it all to the receptionist, so I just asked for her to call me back regarding my maternity leave. She didn't even bother calling me back, and when the other receptionist called me for a completely unrelated reason, I asked about it. She told me the same thing that the midwife told me yesterday. I just started crying and told her everything, and she said she would get the midwife right away and explain the situation to her. So she did, and they called the main doctor, who approved early leave starting today. I guess they realized how urgent it was, because they called me back within 20 minutes and told me that it was approved and I wouldn't have to go back to work.

I am so incredibly relieved. I don't know how I would have made it for another 3 weeks. I don't think I could have.

I don't know why this is so hard. Why is pregnancy so incredibly awful? I've hated it from the moment I found out. It only seems to get worse. Is it going to be this bad after the baby is born? Do I just suck at life?

--dragon Read more!

An Aside

Oh, and contrary to what the little ticker on the bottom that shows how far along I am, I do not have cankles!!!!!

--dragon

Also, I can still see my feet and put on my shoes. So there, you little rainbow colored baby-thing, take that! Read more!

So Tired

I feel like I've forgotten where I've been. It's not as if anything of note has happened to me the last few weeks, but it seems as if I'm walking through a cloud. Perhaps it's because of the utter exhaustion I can't seem to shake. I feel like I'm constantly going and going all day long every single day. Even on days I purposely try to do nothing, I still end up feeling drained. Is this because of being pregnant? Perhaps a pre-baby exercise in exhaustion so I know what to expect? Maybe it's because I can't seem to get a good night's sleep. I wake up about every 2 hours to go pee (effing bladder... I can't wait until all my internal organs are back in their proper places), and I can't get comfortable. My lovely soft bed feels like a rock. I fear my medication isn't working because lately I've been getting so overwhelmed by things. But I haven't felt a panic attack coming on or the heavy depression either. So maybe it's just me. I don't know. I can't wait for it to be over, but at the same time I'm absolutely dreading it. I don't know what I'll do. I really don't think I'll make a very good parent. I'm a terribly modest person and I can't stand the idea of people poking around down there or poking and prodding at me like some kind of farm animal. Especially since Erik and Sara will be in the room with me. And the worst part is the not knowing. I'm such a control freak. I like everything to be planned out and to have all the details in order before I do something. You can't exactly do that when having a baby. You just kind of deal with it. I don't think I'm dealing with it very well. I keep thinking about it and for all the planning and lists and organizing I do, I still can't control the situation. It's so hard. Especially because I'm afraid that he'll be born early. I had a dream he was born August 15th. The thought scares me to death. I keep thinking "but I don't have a carseat! But I don't have a carseat!" I know. Silly thing to think about, especially since i live 2 blocks from the hospital. If all else fails, we can walk. It hasn't even happened yet and the whole thing makes me tired.

--dragon Read more!

Hell is a Goverment Waiting Room

5 hours in a waiting room filled with small, LOUD children and crazy homeless people who think that you shouldn't talk to homeless old ladies because they are wearing bandanas of a specific color, and so they are "flying the rag" or some such crap. Not that I was particularly interested in striking up a conversation with her anyways, but that's a pretty stupid reason not to. Is it just me, or do poor people tend to have really badly behaved children? Don't shoot me for that comment. I have just never seen such a conglomoration of children under the age of 8 who were so incredibly ill-behaved. And most of their parents didn't even make a token effort to do anything about it. Ooh yeah. Fantastic combination, that. Oh, and I forgot my damn CD player (no, I'm not that lame, I used to have a friggin awesome 60 gig Ipod, but it was stolen... the day I paid it off.) I had a notebook and some happy colored gel pens to amuse me. Not even a pamphlet to read or draw devil horns and other middle-school type graffiti on. What a great way to spend my day.

So if you haven't guessed, I waltzed my little (yeah, that's a lie) self down to the department of social services today and applied for food stamps. Because although I am somehow able to sort of pay my bills each month, and sort of have enough food, it's mostly due to luck, sympathy from my friends and family, and some seriously precarious financial footwork. Today I did the math and found that with what I am making, I can pay my rent, car insurance, phone, electricity, and keep enough gas in my car to get to work and back with about $44 dollars to spare. Keep in mind that this is before buying any food. Obviously something needed to happen there.

So yeah. I finally qualified (this would be my 3rd or 4th time applying this year) because I didn't have to file with Erik (apparently, we made $100 a month too much). All I have to do is get a written statement from my "roommate" (i.e. my mom) saying that we split the rent and utilities in half and don't buy or prepare our food together. The payment part is true, but it's a complete lie that we don't purchase or prepare our food together. Yeah. But you know what? I don't care. I am flat-ass broke. I can't even afford to save up to get my kid circumscised. I'm pretty much screwed. I imagine that now that I am in the third trimester, I can probably qualify for cash aid, but applying for that is a whole 'nother headache.

The best part is, I have to go back tomorrow. Someone shoot me.

--dragon

(Has anyone else noticed that I use an excessive amount of parenthesis?) Read more!

Grant Me The Serenity, The Strength, The Wisdom

I've waited some days to post this. I needed time and distance to gather my thoughts.

I have written about my troubles with Erik. About my lack of attraction to him and my ongoing frustration with his childish, selfish behavior. Well, I've finally taken care of it.

I told Erik around the beginning of June that he needed to get on the ball and find a better job, as well as getting into some kind of counseling. I gave him until the 30th, and told him if he didn't meet those requirements, he would have to leave. I also made it clear that I would help him find a place to live and give him ample time to get situated. Of course, him being Erik, he didn't even bother starting to look until the beginning of the 3rd week of June. He only applied at a few places, refusing to try fast food or gas stations (which make up about half of the jobs he is qualified to do), because he feels he is "better than that". And of course, he never even bothered to look for a counselor, instead giving me every excuse in the book as to why he shouldn't.

One morning I asked him how his job hunting and search for a counselor were going. He told me the places he had applied (and had only checked back once at a few, and hadn't checked back at all at the rest), and whined about how he shouldn't have to find a counselor and tried to turn it around to say that I thought I didn't have problems and how I was saying that everything was his fault and blah blah blah. I told him that the 30th was fast approaching and that if he failed to meet my terms, which he had agreed to, then he was going to have to leave. I had already told him if he left, my mom and brother would move in so I could have a reliable, trustworthy roommate that was going to pay their bills and help me out. As usual, he turned everything I said around and twisted to mean things that made absolutely no sense, like how it didn't matter what he did (it did) and how I had been planning this all along behind his back (I wasn't, and he knew about it from the start). Of course, he had to play the victim.

So even though I made it very clear that he did not have to leave right away, and I would help him find a place to live and was all set up before he left, he refused any kind of help and had to be a martyr, whining about how he didn't have the money (which was part of the reason I was kicking him out, duh) and I was being cruel and unfair. I hate how he always plays the victim. I hate how he always tries to make people feel sorry for him and plays me out to be some kind of monster to all of our friends and his family. I'm not. I've tried to be as nice and helpful as possible. I've tried to make sure that we stay friends, that he is included in things related to the baby, and not say or do anything to make him feel or think that any of this is his fault.

I know he is hurt and upset, but he has no right to try and guilt me or get attention by making me out to be the bad guy. Since when is making sure that I can make it and be able to provide for myself and my soon-to-be child a crime? If he won't step up and be an adult, then I can't be with him. I can't be his mommy and the baby's mommy. I don't have the time, energy, strength, or patience. He abandoned me at the midwife's office yesterday, an hour before my lamaze class (which I ended up missing, thanks to him) because he somehow got it into his head that I never loved him or cared for him at all at all and was just using him. EXCUSE ME. I did and do care about him, but I can't afford him. All he'll ever do in life is be a weight. He has no desire to change or be better or even get a decent job. How am I supposed to take care of him, take care of the wee one, go to school, and work at the same time? I'm sorry, but I am just not that good.

I am the one that got pregnant. I am the one that is going to be the primary caregiver. I am the one that is going to have to completely change my entire goals to accomodate. It takes two to tango, but apparently it only takes one to fall flat on their ass. But so what? I have to suck it up and be strong. I have no choice. There are no other options for me. He doesn't even have any goals. He could care less if he lives the rest of his life doing exactly as he is doing now. Nothing for him has really changed. In fact, having a kid was his only goal. So, mission fulfilled, I guess. And yet he's the one who sits around moping and feeling sorry for himself? He's the one who feels abandoned and used? I'm sorry, but as completely empathetic and understanding as I am trying to be, that's just a little bit of a stretch for me.

I know I'm writing this out of anger, but I refuse to take it out on him. As my mom likes to say, if all else fails, kill 'em with kindness. And so I will. It's not like I'll gain anything by doing anything else.

--dragon Read more!