I ain't yo' "holla-back" girl.

 This is not a bummer post; it's a really positive one. Almost manic. But you guys don't care, right?



Have I ever mentioned that I love my primary care physician? She's technically not a doctor; she's just a nurse practitioner, but she's incredible all the same.

She mentioned to her nursing student that I was thin today. HA! VICTORY!

Another victory (at least for me, anyway), is the fact that I'll be starting a round of fertility drugs, specifically Clomid, in a couple of weeks. I'm really excited about this, as it means we might actually get somewhere.
Basically, Clomid is a drug that will stimulate my ovaries to produce eggs (which could potentially have the side effect of making more than one baby, but usually not more than two). I'll be on this for a few weeks until the point when they [cough] inseminate me with a [cough] sample from Jacob. It's a bit awkward, but since doing that special kind of dancing hasn't been working for us, I'm pretty much up for anything.
Essentially, we could get pregnant in time for me to get the best birthday present ever. I'm not saying that's likely, but it is a possibility.

If this doesn't work after about 4 cycles, then I get to go to Mayo for some straight-up IVF. Not really interested in that, but if we're going down this road already, we may as well sink money into it before we sink money into the adoption process. It's just the Minnesota Hunerdosse journey, I guess.

For so long, I've been fixating on this, repressing all my feelings about infertility until they weigh upon my heart so heavily until I break down, or channel it into some bizarre project. Or, at least, that's been the cycle to which I've had no relief. But now...ah, but now...there's actual hope.

Hope. So wonderful.

Anyway, I've been doing a lot of work to become less depressed and more functional. Self-esteem boosting, perhaps. I finally got my substitute teaching license and started working again! I'm really looking forward to actually doing a job that influences people (specifically, children). I hope I can instill a sense of value in them...and for the love of God, fix their grammar...

Also, Jacob recently found an article that said because I have severe endometriosis, I'm more likely to be smokin' hot. And, well, I am smokin' hot (that is, when I'm not wearing the clothes of a jam band roadie.) I may have been privy to a surreal recreation of My Fair Lady this weekend, which reaffirmed the fact that my rear end is spectacular and I can still "drop it like it's hot." Not that anyone around me was even remotely interested in my feminine appeal, but no matter: I might be becoming an attractive adult, and this pleases me.

I've also been doing a lot of running. I ran an 8k a while back and this past weekend I ran the Big Gay Race 5k up in Minneapolis. It was awesome; not only did I run reasonably well considering all the people, but it was just incredibly affirming to see thousands of people come out in support of love. Oh, it warmed my heart so!

We got DirectTV, so now I can watch Doctor Who every single damn day (although I've DVRd the most recent episode, so, no spoilers, Sweetie). We can also watch Game of Thrones and Homeland, both of which have earned my seal of approval.  Even better, I can watch old movies from my past, like The Haunting. Holy crap, 13-year-old Katie loves this movie.

This album has helped me turn the corner on depression. As you can see, this isn't the actual cd, just a copy I made for David. I labeled it accordingly.

Bartleby and Clinical Depression

So.

I use this blog as therapy. While I'd like to say it's for all of you, it's for me.
 

I suffer from clinical depression, as most of you know. I'm in a pretty terrible place right now, which is hard for me to admit, but it's just the honest truth. I feel like a lot of bad things happened around me all at once and I have developed absolutely no coping mechanisms. I recognize how stupid it is; I have so many things in this world, and I'm incredibly grateful. But depression, as I've mentioned before, is a nasty, vicious bitch.

When I go through a bad bout of depression, I liken myself to the title character in "Bartleby the Scrivener" (Herman Melville, 1853). For those of you unfamiliar with this particular short story, it details the account of a Wall Street lawyer's interactions with his copyist Bartleby, who slowly detaches from all responsibility (even to his own well-being), dismissing it with the phrase, "I would prefer not to." He goes so far as to become a vagrant, is put in prison, and eventually dies of starvation after "preferring" not to eat. I remember reading it in high school. I've never particularly cared for Melville, as I've always found him ridiculously long-winded, but this story struck me as relevant to my life. I, too, become detached and listless in these situations, and I'd just as well "prefer not to" exist.

This is my lowest point in a long time. I barely moved today. I slept more than I thought I was capable of sleeping. I watched a silent movie. I cried a lot.

 I tend to cry a lot. I'm a crier. It's a pretty typical thing that I do.

 I feel nothing but remorse and regret for the way I've been acting lately, because I've been nothing but clingy and needy to pretty much everyone in my life. It makes me sick to my stomach. The wonderful people in my life deserve so much more than that.

My only usual place for human interaction is temporarily gone. Jacob has insisted that I take a Facebook hiatus. So, now I'm just alone.

Jacob and I had the discussion last night that maybe we should just work on me for a little bit, and take the focus off of having babies. If we want to raise those babies right, I have to be okay. Which, once again, I find it incredibly frustrating that it's only me that's standing in the way of the only thing I truly want: children.

I have to give Jacob a lot of credit. He's wonderful at recognizing when I need help. Unfortunately, he's about as nurturing as a lump of coal. I can sense his good intentions, but I lack the emotional comfort, and that's very difficult to come by. Jacob is the only one who has that responsibility toward me, plus, I can't deny that his love for me is tremendous. It is truly dynamic.

Despite all his faults, very few men would stick with a woman as batshit crazy as me and still maintain the same love for her that he's always had. Dammit, he's wonderful.


If I wasn't so horribly crushed by my own brain, I'd love to blog about all the fun I had at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival this year and how I'm almost ready to start substitute teaching in the Austin Public School District.  But, unfortunately, that'll just have to wait for a time when I'm in better spirits.

Maybe tomorrow?

Cruel, Cruel Summer

I had high hopes this week. I mean, really high hopes. I went out and bought a pee test yesterday. Negative. Which shouldn't have surprised me. Oh, then, as per usual, I go my period eleven days late this morning (which is gross and unnecessary information for most blogs, but not mine, so deal with it). I guess what surprised me is how hard I took it.
In fact, I'm still taking it hard.

Oh God, I'm taking it really hard. I didn't even want to mention anything, but hell, it's just all spilling out...

I thought I had an intuition this time. It's so hard when you can't even trust your own body. 

I struggle with depression. Really struggle. It's part of the reason most of my blogs are so somber. I actually have a happy blog in the works, but when I'm happy enough to post it, I'm unusually manic and unable to stay in one place for too long.

I can project the most happy, optimistic attitude for the sake of others, but I can't seem to wrangle it for myself. No, I'm not trying to portray myself as a selfless martyr, giving all of my happiness to others, I'm just trying to illustrate how maladjusted I am. Oh dear God, I am so maladjusted. Behold:
My long-standing pattern of behavior is to devote myself to a friend/boyfriend/whatever in need because I care deeply for those in my life and that's just what you do, right? But then realize through all of it that I'm also one who needs help, but not be able to communicate this to anyone. Then, after suffering some sort of nasty pitfall, I crumble into a miserable, mewling mess, thus becoming obsolete to those who need me, and becoming a burden to those who love me. I lose interest in everything, and just become useless. Fortunately for me, something has always come along to save me last minute, but I can't ever seem to remain in that state of remission. It just cycles, over and over. It's not an unusual pattern for people with depression.

Depression is SUCH A BITCH. I mean, it really, really is. A nasty, conniving, cold-hearted bitch. 

 I would like to stay, you know, sane. For once. It's an awful lot of work to save somebody from themselves; not many people have the time or capacity to do that. Plus, as much as I would want that, I would never want that. I hate feeling pitied. I hate feeling like a burden. I know I might seem attention-seeking sometimes, but I think that's just a result of bad writing; I really hate feeling pitied.

It's terrible, because sometimes, all I think I need is a hug. Or a hug marathon. Yes, a marathon of hugging. I don't know if this is a reversion back to a state of child-like dependence, but sometimes, I think so many of my depression symptoms can be emotionally rectified by a good solid hug. My parents hugged me a lot when I was little, so maybe that has something to do with it. Or maybe I'm just weird and needy. Take your pick.

And yes, now I'm going to talk about hugging. It'll keep me from crying, and I need a break. My eyes are so puffy that I don't even recognize myself in the mirror. I look a little like Quasimodo, which, as you can imagine, is terrifying.
I'm pretty guarded about my relationships, and, generally, I'm pretty guarded about who I hug. I tend to really over-think the act of physical contact between human beings; it's a weird thing that I've always done, and feel free to diagnose me with all kinds of crazy. I won't initiate a hug with someone with whom I'm not comfortable. Conversely, if I meet a good hugger, I'm more likely to hang on to that person. I can't typically trust my body for anything, but I feel like when we embrace each other with genuine affection, I can feel it in the base of my spine (I feel strong emotions in the base of my spine---I might be an alien), and I like noticing how every different person applies pressure differently to display affection. It...kind of...helps me cope. I don't know; I'm sure most people love hugging, and all of this sounds like babbling, but I just want to talk about something that makes me happy.

Unfortunately, I think I may have married one of the worst huggers in the Midwest. Jacob is too tall, too uncoordinated, and too reserved to hug me while standing. Unless I'm standing one stair up and he's one down, but those hugs are only given upon request. Jacob is notorious for not being physically affectionate, so I'm not sure how I managed that. He does this weird thing where he tries to pop my back, but it mostly just hurts because he doesn't know what he's doing. OR, he'll hug for about 2 seconds, then give me three "buddy" pats on the back. Ineffectual, to say the least. But, he is trying. I've started communicating that more frequently, because, you know, in a marriage, communication is important. So are hugs, you know? To his credit, he's a decent cuddler (when he's not, um, gassy). At least he's funny :)

Maybe that's another reason why I like being within the theater community. Everyone is so physically affectionate, and no one attaches any unnecessary stigma to it. I don't think there's any other environment quite like it. It's just another reason I find it so therapeutic; it keeps me stable.

All this hugging talk is reminding me of how lonely I am during the day. Unemployment is so terribly lonely. I love having time to myself, but enough is enough. During the day (particularly the morning, because David is usually awake and keeping me company during the afternoon---and no, I'm not complaining about that at all; friends are awesome), I get so, so lonely. I used to have coworkers. Coworkers who talked to me and laughed with me. Even my coworkers that would hug me if I needed it. I even used to have little kids to hug...oh shit, I need to stop this train of thought...


Maybe I'll go watch more Dr. Who and secretly pretend I'm the Doctor's companion. I know this girl could use an adventure right now. I think I may have discovered the one show that might heal the scars from Lost and rekindle my desire to watch real television again; I am forever grateful. Jacob and I might finally be able to resume our favorite pastime...of watching real television. Or maybe I'll just become a massive nerd again. It wouldn't be the first time.



Maybe I should go put ice on my face. Reduce the swelling. Start looking human again.

Did I ever mention how much I love Linus. He's been a good buddy to me lately, and I'd feel bad if I didn't mention him.

Shark week

Sometimes, I'm an unholy terror.

I was looking for a picture of a monster, and found this. I've never seen it before and had no idea it existed. Its light hearted nature is in no way indicative of the somber tone of this post.

In general, I'm lovely. However, once my hormones rush through me, I become a damned monster. I can't figure out why this happens. I mean, I know PMS is this thing that happens to most women, but I just become an outrageous, yet heart-broken bitch.

I didn't used to be this way. I think after surgery, my insides started over-functioning to make up for lost time. Unfortunately, my hormones have gone berserk. Imagine this: once a month, my brain suddenly bombards me with every failure that I have ever experienced, and I become a wretched victim of heartbreak. For pretty much no reason (other than the fact that I am kind of a failure, a fact which I like to slip under the rug whenever I can). I feel terrible for those close to me; it's really not something they deserve, but I can't seem to help it. I'm so thankful that Jacob knew what was going on the moment he woke up this morning; he's brilliant sometimes. I do love him so.

I had another attack...thing today. It wasn't a scary one, or at least not initially. It hurt, but it could have been much worse. However, the aftermath was atrocious. It's actually getting worse as I type. This rarely happens. I have suffered many different manifestations, and this is really the second best I can hope for. Unfortunately, I watched three small girls today. Needy girls. Oh, and it's the first hottest day of the year. I can't imagine anything more miserable than being head-butted simultaneously in the uterus by a one-year-old and a three-year-old. I thought I was going to die at that moment; I actually saw stars. Oh, it was bad...I think Doctor Who saved my life today. Doctor Who and graham crackers. I suppose Jacob and David helped too.

Regardless, I'm just miserable that any of this happened. Again. AGAIN. I just want to get a handle on this, because it might be the thing that is actually breaking my f*ing heart. That, and I'm surrounded by pregnant women and newborn babies. I can't stop it from getting to me. I really can't, and I wish I could. It might help my motivation to achieve something in this world.

I wish I had a cuddle from somebody right now. I say somebody simply for the fact that Jacob is undeniably covered in a thick layer of sweat and grease. And he's full of beer. Two things that are not advisable in a cuddle. But a clean, sober cuddle would be very welcomed right now.


I just feel so lonely sometimes.

Hell hath no fury...

I have just been given a taste of what it would feel like if my children were threatened in any way. I can definitively say that I will be one nasty, yet eloquent, mama bear. Consider yourselves warned.

This is a ranting blog about random high school drama that somehow permeated into my typically drama-free life. 

I typically like most people. I mean, I give most people the benefit of the doubt after I meet them. Also, it takes a pretty severe offense for me to publicly denounce a person. However, once that offense is perpetrated, you are dead to me. Particularly if the offense had something to do with my reproductive state.
 I should probably admit that this blog may have had a bit to do with one of these encounters. There exists this girl: let's call her Sandy. Sandy was in shows with me, and clearly has some form of attachment disorder, along with not being the brightest of bulbs. Sandy was completely unable to pick up on social cues, however, was extremely self-assured in terms of how great her relationships were with others in the theater. You know the type. Anyway, Sandy liked to assume that since I was married, I should absolutely be pregnant. It's a topic that I had avoided with most fringe acquaintances, but Candy seemed to think it was perfectly acceptable to demand that I fertilize my husband's seed (a euphemism for what she actually said) in front of crowds of people and that she would babysit my children, in no uncertain terms. She also had a habit of physically fondling me in public without my express permission every time we encountered each other. Her boundaries became so excessively bad that I ended up blocking her on Facebook, which she didn't seem to notice. I wrote that blog about things not to say to someone with fertility issues for people like her, thinking that her excessive stalking might lead her to my blog, but alas, no dice.

For the record, Jacob thinks she's batshit crazy. He also has wanted me to cut every tie with her for a long time, which I have resisted, because I had enough compassion for her as person that I didn't want to crush her and send her into a deep depression. Knowing what I know about her now, I don't think she has the same capacity that I do to react to failed relationships. So. Much. Energy. Wasted.

As it were, I am not the first person to suffer her indecent boundaries. Which is what leads me to the "mama bear" incident. I am very protective of my friends; I defend them, even in the worst of situations. David lives with me, so amplify that protective instinct tenfold and you have the monster that I am. Sandy's boundaries with David are obscene, and when she crossed a line, I unleashed my fury (a fury that has been building for years, to which she has been utterly oblivious). What irritated me about the encounter was the deluge of asinine, ignorant and poorly spelled rubbish she spewed back at me. Frankly, if I'm going to take my time and write a letter of denunciation, the least you could do would be to run spell check through the putrid mess that you call a response.

I had absolutely no qualms about burning that bridge, I suppose, but I am sad that there are people like that out there, making the idea of forging relationships frightening, not to mention who I can trust with information regarding the state of my family.

I really do try to like everyone, but I can't do it this time.

Well, I'm sure that was miserable for you to read, but I had to get that off my chest. It's my therapy blog, remember?

If you read that, then be rewarded with this cheerful picture:

Poppies with make them sleep....Sleep!!!!!

Feeling Sinister

Mother's Day.

I debated whether or not to spend it A) eating an entire cake with my face only, B.) mournfully whimpering into my comforter while wallowing in my bed, or C.) a mixture of A and B. I'm sure there are plenty of worn-out mothers in this world that are so exhausted that this is how they spend every Mother's Day. However,, the thing that separates them and me happens to be the small, yet significant fact that I am not a mother. This small, yet significant fact remains the reason that, for me, Mother's Day feels fucking apocalyptic.

It's like I'm on the wrong side of the Rapture.

Every commercial, every advertisement, every person deems it to be a moral imperative to worship mothers today. All of this resulting of course in me feeling horribly wasted and inadequate as a woman. As a good feminist, I should know better, but it doesn't seem to make any difference. It goes beyond any particular philosophical ideology or dogma that I have ever embraced. It just comes down to a girl being unable to achieve the one and only thing she ever truly want in life: to be a mother, to make a family with the person she loves.

You see, every year I make the unfortunate assumption that this will be the last Mother's Day that I don't get to celebrate. Such a stupid assumption; obviously, it never ends well. It puts tremendous pressure on me, giving myself this timeline.
Year after year, my heart is broken. And no, I'm not throwing that term around. My heart is broken, and there's just no getting around it.

I really don't want to dwell on feeling like this. It can't be good for my constitution. I've been desperately trying to collect happy thoughts and consolations. It always starts, "Oh, I wouldn't be able to______ if I actually had kids" or "We won't be able to do this once we actually have kids." True, I've done some great things. Involvement in theater. Consistently running and getting into [better] shape. Fostering a starving artist. Falling asleep next to the man I love every night. I wish that were enough; all of them have been such a beautiful part of my life. Don't think for a moment that I'm not immensely grateful: I am.

I'm just....incomplete.

Some have been a bit insensitive, although not intentionally: church is a miserable place on Mother's day. If I have to hear the words "children are a blessing" one more time, I'm going to vomit like Linda Blair. I also didn't entirely appreciate the looks of disapproval from all the older ladies as I walked into the sanctuary in my heels and low-cut dress, childless as always. I know what ladies like that are thinking. After all, I grew up Lutheran.

I know it's hard for Jacob to see me so upset. It's even harder for him to talk about it. And we actually did. The other day. I did most of the crying talking. It's really no cake walk for him either. However, he doesn't feel the same type of pressure that I do, and since he doesn't process through every single emotion every moment of the day like I do, it's hard to be exactly on the same page...other than the fact that we both want babies terribly, because our love for each other needs to be spread around to more than just us. It's just that potent.

I will also say this: I don't know if he reads this blog or not, but I want to say this: David is exactly who and what I need in my life right now. Even if I go into detail about why, it'll just circle back to that very statement. I just...love that human being so much.


A beloved friend did the most wonderful thing for me today.  It was so...perfect. It was just an email, a reminder that she was thinking about me. But it validated everything in my heart. I immediately burst into tears. Okay, okay, I'm still a little weepy. She understood that there was no way she could understand how I would be feeling, but she knew that what I had hoped for on this day, that it wasn't a reality, and that all she could do was provide support and positivity.  In doing that, I think she might have just saved me thousands of dollars in therapy.

So, I guess I'll soldier on through the rest of the day; I can make it through a few more hours. I'm sure I'll feel less destroyed tomorrow.

Instead of giving myself I timeline this year, I want to give an alternative:

I hope this is the last Mother's Day that makes me feel like this. I hope by next year, I'll feel so fulfilled that it doesn't matter.

Fair enough, right?

Hello once again.

So, where do I start?

I think the last time I actually blogged (there's that word again: blogged. I don't think I like it, but I must use it for lack of a better option), we were at dress rehearsal for Rent.

Rent might have been one of the most meaningful pieces of theater in which I have ever participated. I cried regularly during the performance, I mean, during the sad parts (you know, like when Angel dies. David really sold it). Which, as it were, only made the show more intense for the audience. Even though I played a real bitch, I could feel the character morph and develop every night, which was absolutely remarkable to me, considering the type of character Maureen is. Oh, the whole thing was just beautiful. And, not to mention, most of Austin saw my bare ass. Who wouldn't be proud of that? As one old lady put it: "The city of Austin is lucky that you have a cute butt."

Seasons of  Love

I've bonded deeply with a lot of people involved in the show, and now that it's over, I feel a little empty. Okay, I feel pretty empty. I like being able to use art for a purpose, and there's always a bittersweet release once that's been accomplished. Mmmmm.....I might go pester Jacob for a hug.

Oh and I forgot: we had at one point discussed raising money for a charity called BCEFA (Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS), and after our first week, I actually remembered. So, during the second weekend of the run of the show, we gave a little speech at curtain and ended raising $736.06 for sufferers of HIV/AIDS and other illnesses. I'm so proud of the theater-going community here in Austin. I have no idea what The Sound of Music could possibly contribute to charity, but maybe I'll figure it before that show opens.
I'm in that show too. Just a nun. No big thing. I think I'll spend the majority of that show missing the camaraderie I enjoyed during Rent.  Then, I'll be taking a theater break. Jacob needs it; I'm not sure if I need it, but I love my Jacob.

Also, I just spent the last weekend with what seemed like every person I've ever known. Really, it was just my family, Jacob's family, Kendra Fay, and Zach and Holly Nordby. But overall, six people were staying here at once. Oh, and David too. Plus Jacob's mom and step-dad came as well, and they brought us the full bed that Jacob's dad got us a year ago but couldn't transport. So now, David has a real bed and not an air mattress. I feel like such a good hostess now. Or, landlady would be a more appropriate term.

Our two year anniversary was on Tuesday. Unfortunately, Jacob got extremely sick that day. Extremely. Like, temperature of 102 and potential pneumonia (I think it might actually be pneumonia, but he won't admit it.) So, Thursday night, we enjoyed dinner at the Old Mill. It was really nice just to go out and be together. Whenever we spend time together, it's always in front of the TV. I hate that. I really don't want to get into that habit, so I'm hoping that with summer coming, we become more active again. We used to ride our bikes a lot. Or, at least walk...you know, back from the bar....

I'm still working on my daycare; I have an orientation class Monday night. I was at Barnes & Noble yesterday to buy Madeline a third birthday present----I got her Madeline (shocker!) and The True Story of the Three Little Pigs--- and I realized how few children's books I have. There are so many good ones; I need more books around here. Maybe that'll keep the girls occupied better when they're here. We tried to bake cookies the other day, but really, we ended up making one giant octopus cookie and pestering David about being a mermaid. But at least we listened to some good music and had some fun.

David got some movies from his house the other day, movies that I apparently need to see.  Since we end up spending most of our daytime hours together, we tend to watch movies or Dr. Who and talk about artsy things. Well, one of the movies he insisted upon was Wit, starring Emma Thompson. Emma Thompson also stars in Stranger Than Fiction, another favorite of mine. It was an absolutely brilliant movie. It present the story of an academic, a woman who devoted her life to the study of John Donne (whom I studied a bit, but not nearly to the level of the character), a 17th century poet who explores life and death in the abstract, yet is suddenly faced with stage 4 ovarian cancer, which ultimately leads to her death. The character's steely conviction is something to which I can't relate; I don't think I've nearly the strength of character to fight something of that gravity. But I'm positive that David did not expect the reaction he got from me. I wept. I sobbed. Gut-wrenching, painful sobs. Something in that movie hit something so deep and frightening within me that I couldn't help myself. I absolutely fell apart. I couldn't even describe why it was so significant and so frightening, but so many pieces of it echoed things that I have experienced or seen others experience. I felt connected to a greater experience, the experience that women encounter in terms of disease and modern medicine. All the the time. I don't even have cancer and I still have experienced many of the things that the character did. Oh, I could go on, but I think I'll tear up. I'm not nearly as verbose as some; most of my thoughts and feelings never develop into actual words, just tears. I can't seem to help myself.

I also can't seem to help myself in terms of feeling...blue. Sad. The show, which I've been devoted to since January, is over. My uterus is still empty, and I'm still suffering from the same money pit of problems. Jacob is still a little grumpy from me being gone all the time. However, as I've been hearing an awful lot of Florence and the Machine lately:

"It's always darkest before the dawn."

Our Lady of Immaculate Grammar

I'm confused by the new layout of Blogger. Have I really not blogged in that long? Am I really using "blog" as a verb?

I feel like I have so, so much to say that I don't even know where to begin.

I mean seriously.

Maybe I should just post this as a precursor to my actual entry; just a reminder to myself that I'm still blogging.

May the fourth be with you.

Up & Up

I feel like these blogs are incredibly erratic. Either manically positive or full of despair. I have a vast depth of emotion, however, I don't feel as bipolar as these blogs portray me. Most of the time, I'm pretty even keel. It's just trigger events that set me off. I tend to swing pretty rapidly if something dramatic happens. You know, like last Friday. Or, you know, losing my voice a week before performances. Or if Jacob and I try to make gravy together. Any one of these things can pitch the mighty ship of my heart to or fro in the vast sea of my emotions, so to speak. It's pretty easy to send me reeling, but I eventually end up back to where I was. I have very low mental flexibility; I have a hard time adjusting, I guess. I live with my heart fully exposed, fully vulnerable. I guess I don't know any other way. But, just like the rest of us, I move on and get over it. It's life.

Anyway, my voice is almost completely back. I knew it would be, but it still frightened me a good deal. I drank two liters of water every day. That probably helped. Jacob also had a boys weekend in Ames, IA. That probably didn't help. It meant I spent the weekend only with David, which inevitably meant that we talked too much, and my throat got pretty raw. Plus, I was pranked into thinking my house was haunted and didn't get nearly enough sleep. But, remarkably, it's back. I tried to put a humidifier in my room, and I think it helped. Also, the water. And Throat Coat tea. I drank more than was recommended by physicians. I can't help that it's tasty.
Dammit, this show is important.
Speaking of which, it's kind of awesome. Everything is coming together. I wear a whole lot of ridiculous things. And not nearly enough. So that's exciting.
Oh and I plucked David's eyebrows for this thing. That's nuts too. I mean, plucking a man's eyebrows. It's odd for two reasons. First of all, you don't expect to see the finished product. Secondly, men don't deal with pain well. I'm not sayin', but I'm just sayin'. I thought it was just Jacob that was a big baby about pain. Apparently not. But seriously, I should take a picture (although he's already taken many) and post it. I'm very proud of my eyebrow work. I've done great things to many faces in my youth.  I actually used to aspire to be a professional eyebrow...plucker...technician? Is that the term? I don't know, but I want to do that for a living sometimes...I should probably apply a numbing agent to their skin before I go that crazy on someone's face again, though. Shit got real.
Whatever. I'm a girl and I'm awesome. I mean, aside from that awesome part.

Curses

It's Friday the 13th. Yes. It makes so much sense now.

I had an incredibly traumatic morning. It didn't even start out normal. I mean, I don't have a voice at all right now, and we're opening in a week. So, enter the stress of not having a voice. Well, I decided, with my omnipotent wisdom, that I needed more medicine and more tea and, hell, I needed it now. Also, a dry erase board, so I could stop talking. I had been feeling a little more sick than usual, even nauseous, so medicine would be a good thing.
So, I get up, I shower, I get into my car, and I start driving to Walmart (being that it is the cheapest place to buy medicine and Organic Throat Coat Tea). At just under a block away, I'm hit by a painfully familiar feeling: I'm having an intestinal attack. What follows is a stream of consciousness account of my morning. I need to write it down, because I'm still kind of in shock and I have to process it.
Damn.
I shouldn't have had that wine last night. It must have had something in it that triggered this...damn.
What do I do now?
I know that I need to be home. I can't be driving anymore, or else I'm going to get into an accident. I white-knuckle it back home, but even as I'm nearing my house, I feel my mind starting to detach. This is one of the worst things that could happen; it means that I might lose consciousness. It's only happened one other time, and that was the time I had to be rushed to the ER.
Okay, so I'm terrified.
Thankfully, I make it back to my house, to my garage, and....I'm stuck. I need some pain medication fast. I foresee this turning into a really frightening episode.
Shit.
Shit.
SHIT.
Oh, God, this hurts.
I need to get into the house. I have to get that medication so that I can handle this a little better. I used to take Benadryl just so I could sleep through part of it.
Maybe I could text David? He's sleeping and has to work tonight, but surely it wouldn't take much to just run downstairs to get my pills for me?
Okay, now I just wait.
Waiting.
Ugh, I can't wait this long.
Maybe I can quickly run into the house. I mean, these episodes work like contractions; there's always a lull after a few minutes. If I time it right, I can make it inside.
Shit. I forgot that changing positions makes it worse. Maybe I can still make it to the house, though. It's just a backyard away.
Oh, hello grass. Would you like me to vomit on you now? No, I think I'll save that for later; too much energy would be expended doing that right now and I'm starting to lose my grip on reality.
Wow, the grass is really green right now.
Why can't I seem to move?
Oh, this is so incredibly painful. Ow. OW. GOOD GRIEF THIS HURTS.
Grass? Pretty grass.
Maybe I should just lay down.
If Jacob were here, I would be at the hospital right now.
Wait, was that a car driving by? Can they help?
Wait, I can't call for help. I don't have a voice.
....
...
...
...
Why am I in the grass?
...
...
...
Oh, I have a purse.
Wait! I have a phone. Maybe I could call someone.
David's in the house! I need to call him.
Shit, he didn't answer. Whatever, I'll call him again.
THANK GOD! I can barely squeeze words out, but I manage to get out the words, "Help me!"
Suddenly I hear noise and perk up. David's there. What's going to happen now? He can't possibly pick me up.
Oh good lord, he's picking me up.I hope he's not judging my underwear choice today. It's pretty heinous.
Wait, now I'm in the other garage...am I on the freezer? Yes, I'm on the freezer. Where's Da----oh, there he is. Oh, and now I'm being picked up again.
I don't think anyone has ever picked me up like this before. Well, not in my adult life anyway.
Oh, here's the couch.
Oh God, I'm going to vomit. DAVID I'M GOING TO VOMIT.
Bucket? Ah, bucket, sweet bucket.
I hate throwing up.
I am freezing. I'm still wearing my shoes and my coat, but yes, I will accept this blanket.
Yes. I would like Codeine now. Thank you.
Please don't leave me. I can't be alone. Thank you. I am so sorry that you have to be here for this.

Ok, now I'm going to sleep....


At this point, I passed out.

Ugh, I really hated this. This may have been the most awkward, horrible thing in the world to happen to me. And once again, it's horribly awkward to have to put a friend through this (particularly a friend who happens to very emotionally vulnerable right now). I wish I didn't have to put anyone through this. Or put myself through this. I really need answers.
How am I supposed to open a daycare with all those little children, if I'm going to pass out and abandon them?
How will I be able to parent?
How will I be able to do anything of value?

Once again. I am so exhausted.
And I'm still freaking out.

Meatless Easter and Its Horrors

It's horrible being a vegetarian (or pescatarian for that matter) on Easter Sunday. Ham is my favorite. There was magical ham yesterday. I almost cried. Oh, it was beautiful. Not to say that I didn't stuff my face. It's easy to fill the meatless void in my heart with other things. Mostly things with butter.
I almost cried for another reason; there are always a million babies at family gatherings. Babies make me sad. So does fielding the question: when are you guys gonna have one? Painful. Irritating. Unwelcome. I'm kind of glad this wasn't an occasion for binge drinking; I would have said too much...not that I don't already do that here.
However, I was able to use my talents as baby whisperer to lull no less than three children into napping. I'm good. I'm really good. Once they end up in my arms, I become overwhelmed by maternal instinct and sooner or later, I have them napping. And no, there is no neck-snapping involved.
I wish all of that talent wasn't going to waste right now. My future children are going to be excellent nappers. Just like me. I am a fantastic napper. Do I ever sleep well at night? Hell no. But I'm a fabulous napper. I actually reserve most Sundays for sleeping, because I just love napping that much. The other night, I "slept" 8 hours, yet at about 2PM, I sat down to watch a little tv and completely crashed for two hours. And, they were the greatest two hours of sleep that ever existed.
I should get a medal, or something.
Look, everyone a picture of a tiger!

Guess who went to the zoo last week? THIS GIRL.

Les Reves Par Nuit

The human mind is obscenely complex. It is full of connections, twists and turns, hurdling our subconscious through time and space in order for us to believe that everything is normal.

I have tremendously low self-esteem. I think that's been established. However, if there's one body part I'd like to change, it would be my brain. It doesn't work properly. Something is terribly wrong with it, and I can't seem to validate its existence.

For those of you unaware (and I know few of you are, but dammit, I get to talk about whatever I want on here), I have AD/HD, non-hyperactive type. Legitimately; I'm not attention-seeking or making excuses when I say that. It's not just an easy scapegoat for forgetting to take out the trash. Imagine yourself walking through a room, with the intent of picking up three items of clothing off the floor. But, as you're walking, other inanimate objects in the room literally start speaking to you. They start reminding you of other projects, other chores, funny stories, and they become more and more appealing, while the items of clothes start to disappear before your eyes. That's what actually having AD/HD is like. I think it's fair to say I'm in a constant state of confusion. There are literally so many thoughts buzzing through my head at all times that I think it has affected my ability to process sound. I'm serious. I over-think when people speaking. I start to fixate on what sounds their mouths are making and I begin to lose to meaning of those words. When asking me a question, the typical response is: what? Say that again? I've had my hearing tested; it's fine. It's just my brain.

Did I mention that I'm also mild synesthete? My synesthesia applies mostly to seeing and thinking about numbers and letters. Oh, and calendars. Depending on the number, letter, or date, my mind immediately replicates and visualizes it based on a very distinct color pattern. Odd numbers are warm colors, even numbers are cool, and so on. As this is occurring, generally my mind will start to wander and think about color. I also have very odd tendencies to organize things like trinkets or food based on the way color has organized them in my brain. Now, I say mild synesthete because unlike others, my synesthesia exists in my brain for the most part, and it very infrequently interferes with my other senses. Although, it has happened. I know some people think it's a tremendously wonderful affliction to have, being that science is awfully excited about it. For me, it's the things have always been and it does nothing but aggravate my already muddled brain.

Dreams are the worst. They're either so wonderful that it hurts to wake up, or they're so monstrously frightening that they imprint me for the entire day, sometimes longer. I was telling a friend the other day that I don't think I've had a dream without extreme violence (rape, murder, stabbing, etc.) in it for months, possibly over a year. As he seemed startled by this, I realized that's really not normal. That's utterly terrifying. I'm not a violent person. Why would my brain play out scenarios of brutal rapes and vicious murders every night? I mean, it's not all I dream about. Sometimes, they're worse, at least as far as emotional impact.
Our minds can be incredibly cruel. They can make us believe something wonderful has happened, and for a brief moment, we're finally at peace, knowing everything is going to work out. Then, we wake up with a hole in our heart, wounded for the rest of the day.
My cruel dreams involve me having children. My subconscious plants false memories of being pregnant and giving birth, so I truly believe I have my own kids. Sometimes, I even wake up and reach for them, only to realize they're not there. I know this happens to the rest of the world as well, but with other voids in their lives.
Which leads me to wonder what our is subconscious plotting? What part of mind is truly who we are? We use so little of our brain consciously, but was is the rest of it doing? If it contains all of that power and all of that intelligence, why can't it heal us when we're broken and hurting? And if it can, how do we access it?


Here, I spent the whole morning blogging about my brain, and I've distracted myself from doing any actual work. My brain sucks. When is the part where I become a zombie?

Oh, bugger...

I am so tired.

Rent is really exhausting. Emotionally, physically, spiritually...all of those things.

I think we've hit a snag.

I miss my Jacob. He misses me. This is the part when things get complicated between us. It's more than Rent or our roommate or his business trips or golfing or whatever is keeping us apart. It's the fact that we're apart at all. It's also a sense of complacency into which we've fallen. We need to change our way of doing things and talking to each other.

It's difficult now, but in a few weeks, we'll mend. We'll be okay. Besides, it's hard to recognize how precious the beautiful times are without the contrast of ugly.

The Pit of Intestinal Despair

Yesterday started out pretty good, but it wound up pretty miserable for a number of reasons. It was supposed to be great---my brother had driven up from Kansas to interview for a summer internship (making him yet another potential roommate), Jacob was coming home after 10 days on the road, and David and I made Kahlua cake...and maybe had a drink in the middle of the day (I'm a horrible influence; David never drank anything before he met me). Like I said, it was supposed to be awesome.
Then, at 3 PM, I felt a horrifyingly familiar sensation. It's as if a medieval mace is being passed through my digestive tract. Everything tensed up, then it just exploded into one of the worst episodes I've ever endured. The worst part? Jacob wasn't there, and David had to fill in. I try not to suffer in front of others; it's extremely uncomfortable for everyone. I almost asked him to take me to the hospital (which really would have been for the availability of morphine, and I don't need another hospital bill). It just sucked. Fortunately, my brother was not around. That would have just been worse; we don't really do feelings, and it's never good to see your sister at her worst. Overall it was a bad situation.
I did not undergo an incredibly expensive surgery and painful recovery just to go back to the way things were. I'm irate. I am seething with anger. Why is this still happening? Didn't they remove that cyst? Didn't they get enough of that crap out? I mean, what else is wrong with me? Isn't endometriosis and infertility enough? What didn't they catch? I have a tremendous fear of bowel obstructions (don't ask why; I just do), and it's becoming less and less of an irrational fear. Can I please just be normal and healthy? Please?
Also, David, my live-in housekeeper/ roommate/ adopted adult son, has been going through absolute misery in the last two days. His ex moved away this morning. Six hours away. To a new guy (whom I can't say I like and has not made this process any easier) and a new job. It's crushing his poor heart. Last night was especially hard because he came to say goodbye to David ( and to me as well; I tend to mother him just like every other young adult and will no doubt miss him). Needless to say there were tears and sadness, which was oddly accompanied by beer and laughter, as my brother Jacob and my husband Jacob are pretty good friends and supplied me with a pretty welcomed break from being the emotionally stable one (not to say that I minded or anything, it was just a lot for my body to take yesterday)... It's just incredibly hard to know that someone you love is hurting and you can do nothing to help. If I knew it would make a difference, I would volunteer to have an intestinal attack (I mean, only if I knew it would make a difference). I hate seeing my friends in pain. Hearts are such fragile and vulnerable things, and it's an tremendous effort to attempt to heal one.

HOLY LIQUOR CAKE

Did I mention that I was also pretty hopped up on Codeine all night? That happened too.  I was in a lot of pain, and typically, would have spent the evening in bed, but circumstances refused to allow it. I didn't get to bed until pretty late, and I even needed a two hour nap today.  My body is getting to the point where I need a few days to recover from things like this. My insides feel like they just participated in a colonoscopy triathlon.  Fortunately, rehearsal was cancelled last night, and I don't have to worry about it until Monday. Good. I need the recovery time. I'm finally to a point where I can stand upright again, so I count that as a major success.

Throughout all of it, however, I actually managed to keep my house clean. WHA?????? I absolutely did. Clean. Even despite eating an extremely saturated Kahlua cake.

 I am going to make it a goal to become proficient at being an adult, chronic pain or not. We'll see how that plays out.

Cacao to emotional exhaustion...

 I need to warn all of you: I mentioned earlier that I'll be swearing from time to time on this blog. This production of Rent has conjured up a festering ball of profanity in me that I didn't know existed. Or if I knew, I suppressed it for the sake of all sanity. I can't keep dirty things from falling out of my mouth, so I apologize in advance for offending all of you in future blog posts.

I tried to write this post a week ago. It didn't work. There was just too much information. About a million things happened.
Did I mention that I tried to write this blog a week before that?
I started this as a therapy blog to deal with issues pertaining to infertility. But I've come to realize that while those issues have the tendency to infect everything else in my life, there's still plenty of unrelated drama that can seep into my brain.
In the last month, I've had one hell of a roller coaster. And the funny thing is, none of it directly applied to me. It all happened to a friend. A friend whose life pretty much, well, to put it bluntly, shit on him. Life shit on him. Everything bad seemed to happen to him, but the most painful was the imminent departure of  the love of his life, who was leaving everything they had together. He was in a very bad place (and he's still not in a great place), and he's one of those people whom many others love and care about, myself included. I couldn't let him wither away, I just couldn't. I forcibly inserted (um, ew?) myself into the situation; it's a weird mothering instinct. I like to mother sometimes. But things just kept getting worse. Then one day, while at lunch with Jacob and his coworkers, I got a phone call from him. I couldn't recognize his voice, and it scared me. So I booked it to his house (I probably drove 90 mph), and found him on his kitchen floor, a completely devastated mess.
So, I did the only logical thing. And by logical, I mean right. I took him home. He needed a change of scene. So, now Jacob and I have a new roommate for an indefinite amount of time. And yes, Jacob is okay with this. I may or may not have called him at work one day and said, "Jacob, David needs to live with us. NOW." And he agreed. Not many husbands would allow their wives to bring home another man. Although, in my defense, he's four years younger than me and gay, so that most certainly gives Jacob some peace of mind. Then again, Jacob's the one who cleaned our house when he thought I had invited a guy over for a "sleepover."
Having David around, even in his state of utter despondence, has been really therapeutic for me. I have to say I'm really benefiting from finally have a man in the house who smells good all the time, sings beautifully (he'll be portraying Angel in the upcoming production of Rent; he's been walking around my house in heels to prepare), and cleans constantly. I mean constantly. I may or may not have cried on a number of mornings (obviously before David gets up) over the fact that I am a completely worthless and incompetent housewife. But, as my house is always clean, I can't complain. And aside from cleaning, he pretty much knows how to do any other thing I could ever ask him to do, and is completely willing to do it. He's even helping me prepare for opening a preschool---he's opened a business before and knows the ins and outs of the legal crap. I pretty much cycle through gratitude and guilt all day long. But above all of that, I just feel relief that if he's here, he's...alive. Living. Maybe not functioning, but not deteriorating. I suppose that makes me feel alive too. Friends can give you purpose when you feel like you have none. And I am very familiar with feeling purposeless; unemployment and incompetence does that to a person.
Plus, I can't deny how much fun that kid is. I've been living in a rainbow theater camp for the past few weeks, listening to Rent, rehearsing for Rent, watching Portlandia, cooking tasty (vegetarian) things. I've even introduced him to real Topeka people, with whom we've had epic fun. Which, I might add, is a wonderful distraction from feeling like you have no purpose. And, mothering him gives me the satisfaction of mothering something that isn't Linus (who, by the way, is thrilled to have a new best friend; David feels likewise). My body still can't stop wanting babies, even though my mind is trying to distance itself from that idea, so being able to release some of that built up longing feels really, really good.
Jacob never lets me mother him, dammit.
Speaking of Jacob, he's in Illinois until Friday. He left last Wednesday, actually, so he's been there for a while. I drove there this past weekend, six hours both ways, just to spend a night with him. We took a train into Chicago and had a wonderful afternoon at the Art Institute and Millennium Park. It was beautiful. We don't go on enough dates. After seven years, romance gets buried under bills and business agendas, and occasionally we need a kick in the pants to rekindle it. Like weekend dates. Or, say, unofficially adopting an adult gay man. I mean, do what you gotta do, right?

Twitterpated and dizzy

Spring is a weird thing. One whiff of spring air, and everything feels different.
The last blog I wrote reflected a girl  wallowing in emotional turmoil, unwilling to allow anyone else in her mind. I've gotten a little bit of (incredible) feedback about that, and I've come to a conclusion that this blog won't be the reason I collapse into madness, and since others find it important, I figured it was probably best to continue my poorly-written musings about life, love, and, well, lack of babies.
Today, I woke up at 6 AM, happy as a clam. In fact, yesterday, I couldn't stop dancing or singing around my house. I even baked a pie for pi(e) day (you know, March 14...3.14). What happened? I could say spring. I could also say that I've had a little bit of a reality check in the last few weeks or so, and I figured out that I have an awful lot for which I am grateful.
Basically, I've figured out that my life really isn't that bad. It isn't. I mean, even for me, life is okay right now. However, I believe the main trigger for my depressive episode to be Jacob's application for a new job in a new state. I wasn't expecting it, and he didn't even consider my opinion about moving away. It's still up in the air; he interviewed for it yesterday. However, I know there are a lot of people in the race for this position, so I feel a little bit better about everything. I've also made a mental plan about what will happen if I have to move away. I always need to make a mental plan---I have very low mental flexibility, and if I'm not emotionally prepared for something, I tend to go bat-shit crazy overreact.

Jacob and I bought our house because A) it was beautiful and perfect and B) it had four bedrooms that we intended to fill up with babies. Since the baby thing isn't working out the way we'd hoped, we're at least trying to fill it with positive energy and neutrality for our friends. When I started doing shows over at the college, I had no problem inviting young members of the cast to my home on one condition: no drama. I refused to allow all of their pointless spats and love triangles to permeate the sanctity of my lovely home. I'm just too old for that crap. However, I've discovered that I am totally willing to allow drama into my home, if the drama is attached to a person I desperately care about. Having problems with your boyfriend? Do I love you to pieces? Get your ass over here; I'll wipe your tears away and...feed you (what can I do? I was raised Lutheran). Jacob thinks I should start charging...dumb accountant.
 In fact, I think being emotionally available to those who need it has really helped me recognize how important loving and honest relationships are in the overall scheme of life. I've most certainly taken that for granted. I've also taken for granted my stable financial situation---sure, I don't have a job right now, but we're still okay. I easily forget how difficult some have it, and it shocks me when I'm reminded. If I had a million dollars, you can bet I would give most of it away. However not before I paid off some loans. And buy some killer shoes.
I love shoes.

However, I do think infertility issues are wrecking havoc on my ability to remain detached and calm when providing emotional support to friends.  I have a lot of room for loving people, and if I can't love the babies that don't exist yet, I'd better start loving the people that are already in my life, even if it's exhausting or frightening. Perhaps it's causing me to mother them more than they'd prefer. Jacob knows this about me, and while he can't quite comprehend the strength of the relationships I have with others, he's still supportive, especially if he knows someone else needs help (although he does get cranky if it interferes with either sleep or The Walking Dead). He would do (and has done) it for any of his friends. Once again, it reminds me that I found my perfect mate.

I love really, really hard. It's part of what makes me who I am, and I think it's completely worth it.

Bummerville

 I'm debating whether or not I should keep my blog going. I'm grateful for your support, it's just that, I don't know if I can continue to put so much of thoughts out there. It seems silly; there are a million worse problems to have than whether or not to continue to blog for emotional therapy. But I feel extremely vulnerable and exposed now that everyone knows my every whim. I need to establish that my mental health is stable before I continue.

I'm what Jacob lovingly refers to as his "little glass case of emotion" (as mentioned in the movie Anchorman.) Basically, it means that I'm fucking crazy somewhat less mentally stable that others. It takes very little to tip me one way or the other, and I've had my struggles (but haven't we all?), so I work very hard to stay even keel. When I tip too far in the wrong direction, I become a "gray bubble"(which is a reference to a Zoloft commercial; Jacob has no original thoughts when it comes to mental health evaluations). I fear I'm becoming a gray bubble again.

With Jacob's job, there's always a possibility we could move at any time. ANY TIME. I was reminded of that recently.
 I used to be fine with the idea. I'm currently dissatisfied with what Austin has to offer. But as of late, I feel hopeful to what Austin could become. I've just recently become extremely involved with a number of arts projects and committees. I love being involved in community theatre. I have a church that makes me feel comfortable. I have a running route to which I'm very dedicated. I have little girls who think the world of me, and I don't want to miss them growing up (I mean, they're already growing up so much, and I've known them less than a year). I have made very dear friends; I don't want to be removed from them, especially in such a stressful battle for fertility. I need their direct support, and no amount of social media can replace a hug.
I need a very established sense of home. Until recently, I haven't had that in years. This is my home now, and it truly feels like home. I can't be ripped away from this. I've only struck out on my own once, when I decided to go to college in Iowa. But that was my choice, and I had two years to prepare. I also had a year to prepare before we moved to Austin. I just can't do this right now.

This is all strictly hypothetical right now. But it could very easily become a reality. And I would be miserable. I would have to postpone indefinitely the idea of opening my daycare, as I wanted to only open it up to families I already knew. Plus, there's the issue of finding new friends. I can get along with pretty much anyone. You have to do something pretty heinous for me to dislike you (although I do tend to overreact...). But I'm picky about whom I allow to get near me. It took me nearly six months to actually leave my apartment and do something when we first moved to Austin. After that, it took me another year and half to really find friends. Now, I've known them for at least two years, which is just the perfect amount of time to establish trust. It would kill me to have start that over again.
When you move away, people always say they'll keep in touch, they'll call, they'll write, etc. For a while, your friends make a good effort. But unfortunately, life goes on (and rather quickly, might I add). People whom you love and care about tend to forget about you, and though unintentional, it's still painful. I'm terrified that I'll move away and be at a huge loss for any real connection to anyone. It isn't fair to expect my long-suffering husband to be my only outlet for human interaction.
Plus, when we eventually move back (because everyone moves back to Austin), I'll have missed so much. I'll have been forgotten. It breaks my little glass-enclosed heart.

For the moment, I'm not sure what I should do. To distract myself, I'm going to throw all of my energy into preparing for Rent, and I'll probably try to watch the kids more often. A friend recently said distractions only delay facing the inevitable, and sometimes that makes it harder. I don't know if that's true for me right now, as I will fall apart if I face every single thing contributing to my depression. I don't expect others to help shoulder all that baggage. It's not right; we all have our own battles to fight, and right now, I'd be much more comfortable in your corner than mine. I just need to get away from my own thoughts for a while.

Welcome to Bummerville, Katie. Get out as fast as you can.

Weighing in, politically

 I don't typically do this. I really hate to discuss politics, unless I'm with very close, trusted friends. It makes everything uncomfortable, and I hate to alienate people for having an opinion that differs from mine (and likewise).  I just have to vent a little bit about a recent media frenzy. You don't have to agree with me on the issue, but please take into consideration what I have to say.

Regardless of how you feel about the subject of birth control, calling a woman who speaks out for her beliefs and defends her actions a "slut" in an effort to gain traction for your argument is incredibly wrong. I get it, that's Rush Limbaugh's schtick: say shocking things, get more listeners. But, being a woman, I found this enormously insulting. Unfortunately, it's nothing new. I just had high hopes that as a society, we had moved past the point of calling women derogatory names in an effort to immobilize them. It's infuriating.
Ladies and gentlemen, think what you will about me. I've been a supporter of reforms for women's health and rights for years. Also, I need birth control. Despite the fact that I would do anything to get pregnant right now, in an odd way, birth control plays a huge role in how that is achieved. Hormonal therapy achieved through birth control is the number one treatment for endometriosis. I was prescribed it when I was nineteen. I'd had stomach problems, along with severe cramps each month. At the time, the prescription was just a precautionary measure; they didn't think I would actually need it (maybe because I was ugly at the time?), yet it certainly helped the cramps. (And I'm sure my parents slept better knowing their nineteen-year-old college daughter wouldn't be returning home to Kansas with a grandchild, even though they trusted me.) Knowing what I know now about my reproductive health, I can't imagine how much worse it would be if I hadn't had that access to birth control during my late teens. My poor ovaries would have fallen off by now. It helped my body to function in a healthy way. I mean, all that weird crap growing on my various organs could have gone hose-crazy and interfered with more significant organs like my heart or lungs, if I hadn't had the benefits of birth control. (Plus, my rack looked amazing. I miss that.)
 The truth is this: many women use birth control for more than, well, birth control. Ovarian cancer is terrifying and extremely lethal, and birth control significantly decreases its risk. We also don't know what causes endometriosis. It could be environmental, for all we know. Millions of women are affected by it, most of them without knowing it, until it becomes a problem. Wouldn't it be nice to have something readily available as a form of preventative care?
 Women's health is making so many gains scientifically, yet we as a nation have such a difficult time disconnecting women's sexual health with women's sexual practices. And then the name-calling starts: whore, femmi-nazi, bitch, slut.

Please, don't resort to that kind of thinking. I don't think it complies with the golden rule.*




*The golden rule is "love thy neighbor."**





**Which is different from Jacob's golden rule: "never touch my wrists."

Ash (Ashley J. Williams) Wednesday

As I explained in a previous blog (did I ever mention how I find the word "blog" bizarre? Oh, well, that's another tangent), Jacob and I bonded over the Evil Dead series. Today, being Ash Wednesday (which I typically miss, because I'm too embarrassed to ask when the services are, as I should already know. I also usually forget until it's too late.), I've decided to pay homage to my favorite horror/action hero: Ashley J. Williams. Or, as we all know him, "Ash."

"Gimme some sugar, baby."

As many of my friends know, I have an unhealthy love of Bruce Campbell (the actor). He's the only reason I ever sit through a real show with a real plot like Burn Notice, and I don't even do that very often. But I've been know to make t-shirts, force others into watching the series, and, let's not forget that all-important poster. Underneath the copious gore and campy humor, to me, Ash symbolizes true love. And twenty cans of kick-ass.

I can't even describe the thrill of watching Army of Darkness with all of my like-minded friends. It's an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and compatibility. Oh, dear Kansas friends, I miss you. I wish we could all celebrate Ash Wednesday together again someday.

Moving on. Jacob and I are considering doing something a little unusual: open a home daycare. I've been trying to find a job for the last few months. And no, not just a job, but something that feels more like a real career, something that suits me, something that pays reasonably. It would be extremely difficult if the economy were in good shape; right now, it's pretty much impossible. So, we continue to re-evaluate my skills. Um....artsy. Ok, that won't work. Creative? Keep looking. Patient; ok, getting warmer. Good with kids? Ok, on a roll. Owns a home? BINGO. Home daycare. We keep coming back to this. Our house is pretty well suited for kids on the main level (we have an open floor plan, with a little sun room that can be closed off during nap time). Jacob also discovered today that I'm already qualified to open a daycare, I just need to jump through all of the hoops. There are a lot of hoops. But I think we can do it.
I just need to hide all the liquor.
And the breakable objects.
And clean and rearrange.

This is probably the best idea we've had in a while. And no, I don't think we're crazy. Maybe it'll help sprinkle us with proverbial "baby dust" (by the way, I think I've mentioned this, but I hate those terms. I hate diminishing the truth with stupid euphemisms.) Anyway, that's all---Jacob's home and it's time for bed. I get to watch the girls for the first time in two weeks tomorrow (only from noon to five, but that's a start), and I need to sleep.

We're okay!

Did you guys know there was a Broadway channel? Neither did I. I'm enjoying watching previews (which is all I can get On Demand for free), because it's giving me a fun little taste of what real professional productions look like. Also, I now know what it sounds like when Daniel Radcliff sings: it's okay, I mean, he mostly sings on pitch, but he should probably stick to straight plays. Holy crap, this is fun; ooo, now it's preview for Rent! Aghhhhhhhh, I wish I could see all of this in person. (Woah, that was definitely stream of consciousness...)
 I was never so self-deluded as to think I could make it on Broadway, or on any professional stage. I mean seriously, that's just astronomically difficult. I don't have the face, voice, or body, not to mention the talent or even the desire to go through all of that. But what I did want when I was younger was the opportunity to be a real theater critic. See and review plays? As a job? How cool would that be?!
Yeah, that didn't pan out. Figures.

So, I went to the doctor today for my two week post-surgery check up. My incisions looked pretty good, and I had nothing unusual to report, so that's great. My surgeon went over the laparoscopic photos with me, explaining where he found instances of the endometriosis. I found out that my sigmoid colon was pretty severely adhered to my uterine wall. Which explains SO MUCH. He couldn't remove all of it without putting my colon at risk. He also showed me my liver, which is also covered with spots (or "tea stains" as he called it) of endometriosis. The inability to remove that as well leads me on to his recommendation: six months of Lupron-Depot, along with another drug to ease its side effects (hot flashes, depression, etc.) I already knew about the Lupron, which I was extremely apprehensive about, but it's nice to know that they're going to try to control the side effects.
I inquired about my chances for fertility. He stated that although I have Stage Four endometriosis (the highest stage), once again, it's only because the endometriosis had spread to my colon, liver, and diaphragm, along with the size of that endometrioma (or "cyst" as the rest of us call it). He said that there was no instances of endometriosis behind my uterus, which is extremely unusual and a very good sign. My fallopian tubes are remarkably clear, which is amazing. Plus, despite the surgery, both of my ovary seemed to be healthy now, and should function normally.  In short, this surgeon has seen cases where the endometriosis is much more severe, and those people have gone on to have children.

Um, HALLELUJAH!!!!!!

That makes everything seem so worth it. Being horribly impatient, I hate having to wait the six months of being on Lupron before I can attempt to become pregnant. But I most certainly will wait, because I know that's best for everyone. Ah, I just feel so relieved.

Today is a good day.


Oh, I just thought of something. I heard a lot of feedback from people about my list of Do's and Don't's when facing friends and family suffering from infertility. It was all pretty good, but it made me realize that I forgot an important one:

• Don't put on a pout and hug me whenever you see me, exclaiming, "Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" and then squeeze the damn life out of me. Every time you see me. First of all, once is enough, and I don't need the waterworks for you to prove your concern. Secondly, I'm not in a constant state of sorrow, and I don't like to be. I hate undue pity. I don't have effing terminal cancer, I'll make it through. Stop looking at my like I'm bleeding out through my jugular.

Oh, that one just drives me crazy. I will be fine, and now I know that everything is not as bad as it looks. Please, everyone, let's shower concern those who actually need it; I'm okay.

Whew, it's good to get that one off my chest. Hey, it's Fat Tuesday, guys! I'm not really into hedonistic celebration, but I have always wanted to go down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Mostly because I'm in love with New Orleans and I need an excuse to go there. Hey, wanna go to New Orleans with me? How about Ireland? France? I think my brother is going to Spain next semester, so who wants to go to Spain? With this infertility hiccup, it's given me a little bit of a travel bug. I should probably act on that (and it'll give me another delightful distraction!)

I just realized I forgot my trivia pledge. How about I pose a question for you? Comment if you can answer it:
Ok, here's a Broadway themed one, inspired from the show I just watched:
Which 1999 revival featured a season Broadway actor as a lead, who is better known from the television series The Dukes of Hazzard?
I'll give you the answer later. It's not terribly hard, though, if you're familiar with this topic.

Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys

 That title has absolutely nothing to do with this blog. That's just Groundskeeper Willy's term for the French.

I really hated writing that last blog. I hate openly exploring my feelings. I considered deleting it, because it just seemed...I don't know, attention-seeking perhaps? It wasn't my intent, but despite my belief that our own battles are as traumatic to us as the seemingly more monumental ones of others, I still feeling like I'm whining. I prefer to keep a lot of those things to myself, but considering I've been doing that for years, I don't think it is always in my best interest until I finally let it out. Ugh. It's still not my favorite thing to do.

I decided that I wanted to write about something I love, something that makes me happy.

Jacob.

Ah, Jacob. Nothing makes me happier.

No it's not Pee-Wee; it's Jacob.

Many of you know all about the story of Jacob and me. However, some of you don't, and it gives me a tremendous amount of joy to recount our life together. It's pretty long, so I'll just start with how we met.

Now, I should mention that I'm not exactly proud of this story. Not all parts of it. It doesn't paint the best picture of me as friend, which almost totally out of my character, but I feel validated knowing that it worked out. And other parts of it are beautiful.

We actually first met around November of 2004, but only briefly. I lived the floor above him during my freshman year at Luther College. I'd been friends with a guy named Tyler and his roommates on that floor, and as we were walking through the hall one day (which smelled like the Frito-Lay factory covered with cigarette butts, yet was oddly comforting), I remember the door to Jacob's room opened and he stepped out. Now, the guy I was with was extremely tall, somewhere around 6'4 or so, so it didn't occur to me that the young man stepping out of his room was tall. It was winter, so underneath the layers of clothing (even though he wasn't planning on going outside; it's cold in those dorms), I didn't notice his extremely thin frame. I did notice two things. First of all, he was wearing socks. Bless his heart, he was wearing socks. It's well known amongst my family and close friends that I hate seeing bare feet, especially when I first meet people. Feet deeply disturb me on a level so deep that it's difficult to even articulate it. So, given that I wasn't preoccupied by his feet, I was able to notice something else: his beautiful blue eyes, framed by dark brown hair. And there was another thing: his name was Jacob. I have a brother named Jacob, so I'm comfortable with that name. But, that wasn't really important, because the truth is, I had a track record of being attracted to men with dark hair. And blue eyes. Whose names started with a "J." Man, did this kid fit the profile. Tyler, being an extremely nice person, politely introduced us, as he did with most people we would run across. But I couldn't forget Jacob. Something deep inside of me recognized a distant  possibility for a relationship; I mean, he fit the profile.. (Although it turns out Jacob forgot me pretty fast; he had been talking to some hottie from his hometown and wasn't over that yet.)

Time went on; I suffered a major FAIL in the dating world, and I wasn't really prepared to pursue it much at that point. My friend, Alison, on the other hand, hand found a likely candidate for a match while at the bar one night. You guessed it: it was Jacob.
However, there was a problem: they were so alike that they both shared the same awkwardness when it came to talking to prospective dates. Alison needed a mediator. I like helping (and talking), so I volunteered. At first, I figured all they needed was a little push to get the spark going, so I started to talk to Jacob.
At first, he seemed really boring. I mean, really boring. He and I shared almost no similar interests---all he knew about was small town Iowa, his buddies, baseball. Pretentious Katie couldn't believe he'd never gotten interested in the arts or read any classic literature, etc. Man, I was obnoxious. I thought this was going nowhere fast, as Alison's interest was fading too. However, I happened to turn and notice his little mini fridge. On the fridge was a poster. The exact same poster I had in my room. A poster that I absolutely adored. This:

Yes, Ash, you are awesome.

This is a photo of Jacob and I, shortly before we started dating.

Woah. This opened a whole new can of worms. Upon discussing movies and pop culture, I suddenly realized that this Jacob kid was a lot more interesting than I had first thought.
From then on, Jacob and I started spending more time together. At first, it was innocent: I'd invite both Jacob and Alison over, trying to get the two together. We'd do funny things, like sculpt goofy sculptures out of polymer clay or watch Free Willy and make fun of the crappy dialogue. Typical college things. But as time went on, all while Alison's interest was waning, my interest was mounting. Yet, I refused to act on any inclinations, because I really cared about my friend and I refused to go down in history as a home-wrecker. But we couldn't stop what we started. We couldn't seem to stay away from each other, whether it be watching on B movie or another, or just googling our friends' names for hours at a time. All of this, mind you, was as friends. I was still healing from past mistakes, and I didn't want to get involved with a guy that was "destined" for one of my closest friends.  But both of us secretly knew it was moving in a different direction. In fact, one night, Jacob even invited me to join him and Tyler to see the movie Sin City. This goes to show just how awkward Jacob could be with women. There's a lot of horrifying violence in this movie. Not to mention, penis violence.  But we had a good time nonetheless.
Then, one evening, while watching a light night airing of Charles Bronson in Death Wish 3, I realized that over the course of thirty minutes, I had gone from sitting on the edge of a chair to sitting next to Jacob. In a one-person recliner. I finally looked at him, and I knew I wasn't going to leave that room without kissing that boy. And I didn't. He kissed me.
We fell asleep in the recliner in each other's arms in that recliner that night.
And we've never been  apart since.

This was shortly after we met. I was still blonde and Jacob was still painfully skinny.

 Yes, there was backlash. Alison was mad for a while, but not forever, because she'd actually been losing interest in a man that couldn't get the courage to talk to her without the aid of alcohol. We're still friends. I felt terrible about hurting her, but I knew that Jacob was the kind of something wonderful that doesn't come along every day. Only five days later, he came to the astonishing conclusion that he was absolutely in love with me. I felt the same way. He also had come to another conclusion: I was, without a doubt, the girl he was going to marry.

Jacob's first gift to me? Wallet sized prints of this photo.

Wow. That was fast.
Too bad it took him another five years to actually go through with that plan. But better late than never, I suppose. I think that was healthy. It gave us time to grow up, learn about each other.

May 1st, 2010. Happiest day of my life.

We are HUGE nerds. Huge.

We've gone through a few rough patches---I had a hard time with college and friends and suffered from more than one bout of serious depression. Jacob got a taste of living the single life during his summer internship at Hormel and reconsidered being in a relationship (it worked out, though). We got our deposit stolen by a crazy landlord whose apartment we never lived in and had to take them to court. We've suffered and supported each other through the loss of family members and beloved childhood pets, bad career situations and health problems. And we couldn't be more grateful for all of the love and support we've received from our friends and family, who have been accepting of our relationship from the beginning. They've encouraged us with all of our endeavors.

Zach was Jacob's roommate. By the transitive property, he was mine as well.

We enjoyed great times during college with some amazing people, and we've gotten to do some amazing things.

This is the only picture of us Jacob keeps at work. He loves it.

This is where I spent almost all of college.

Trout Fry PLANET.

Jacob's never been known to be appropriate.

Jacob's first Cubs game (even though it was spring training.)

Jacob's 21st birthday at T-Bock's.

We love Halloween.

Ah, the great Tater-Mitts Adventure.

Good times spent with family. And drag queens.

Graduation from Luther College!

I was inspired to paint this after a trip to the bar.

Here we are in Puerto Rico, on our honeymoon.

American Gothic museum.

Mustache-maker.

Did I mention that we love Halloween?

Ah, the Florida Keys. I hope we go back sometime.

HOT AIR BALLOONS!!!!

This will be the picture in my obituary someday.

Stop ruining pictures, Jacob.

Television zombies.

We have a beautiful home, which we occasionally find times to clean. And we have a dog whom we love (and treat) like a child. We have an incredibly blessed life.

 And now here we are, facing something completely new. We'll continue to be a united front as we face infertility together, knowing that together, we can channel our overwhelming love for each other into loving and raising a child, no matter how that child arrives in our family. I have a very well-founded belief that Jacob will be nothing less than an incredible father, and part of my irritation with this entire situation is that I have to wait so long to see it in action.

For those of you who don't regularly interact with us, Jacob and I have an unusual way of relating to each other. We utterly adore one another, yet enjoy teasing each other mercilessly. The way I see it, my family has spent my entire existence finding ways to make fun of me, and, as Jacob puts it, his mother has been trying to embarrass him from the moment he was born. So we tend to frequently jab at each other; it's just a learned behavior from our childhood.
 But, I should also mention that Jacob is one of the most spot-on hilarious people I have ever met, so the teasing is usually pretty enjoyable for everyone. I've known funny people. Jacob rises above all of them. He's obscenely smart and witty (and it's a good thing only I know how far his mind has fallen into the gutter), but hides it under quiet demeanor. So, when he's on a role, I've been known to hurt myself laughing. Yet, he's also an easy target for me, because as smart as he is, sometimes he just doesn't think.
I could think of a hundred Jacob stories, but last evening provided me with a great one:
I went to see the play at the college yesterday afternoon. I realized that my friend Bill, with whom I had been in many past productions, was in town, partly to see the show, but mostly because his cat was getting spayed. So, after the show, I was talking to him and a few other friends, and upon realizing that none of us were doing anything, I extended my typical invitation of offering soup and movie. However, I still had to clear this up with Jacob, so I gave him a call. My message went something like this: "Hey Jacob, Bill's back in town because his cat is getting fixed, so he's really got nothing else to do tonight. I thought maybe him and David and Trapper could come over for some butternut squash soup and watch Wet Hot American Summer. I hope that's okay with you. I'm going to pick up some stuff from Target, so let me know if you're not alright with my plans." I finally arrived home to find the rug in the living room vacuumed, and things cleaned up. Upstairs, Jacob was freshly showered and the entire upstairs had been swept and vacuumed, and even the bathroom was clean. I asked why Jacob had made such an initiative. Apparently, he thought my friend Bill was coming for a sleepover. A sleepover. What kind of married woman invites other men over for sleepovers? AND, what kind of husband not only allows it, but cleans the house for such an event? It was just too funny; I couldn't stop laughing. Once my friends arrived, we all had a good laugh. We asked Jacob again, how on earth could you have gotten "sleepover" from that message? His response? "Well, Bill's cat was broke down and needed to get fixed, so I thought he was down on his luck and needed a place to stay." All of this with a smirk on his face.

I love him.