Perhaps there is a more sane medical explanation to all the symptoms I’ve had. The doctor seemed somewhat amused by my worries of disease and ruin. She put me on a medication for what we think is the problem…..and hopefully a week from now we’ll know if that was in fact the ACTUAL problem. I left her office with a (very small) bounce in my step for the following reasons:
*My heart rate is appare3ntly equivalent to that of a woman who works out on a very regular basis (could it perhaps be that early morning “workout” I had today that kick started my day? I’ll have to thank him for it later). I also only weigh myself when I’m there. Or rather, they require me to step on the scale and I comply. Sometimes I’m ashamed of the numbers, but today, well, it could be worse. I’m not 123 like I was last visit…..but 127 is better than the sad 155 I was a year and a half ago. I’ll take it and now I can set a goal for my work Christmas party. Twelve pounds sounds like a lot…..so maybe I’ll just make it 7. We’ll see if I can even lose three. I also have to appreciate said doctor for the following statement, “Well you are just so thin that I can feel all your organs without even trying”. I’m not sure if that is a good thing, but I think it is.
The only downside to this whole ordeal (minus the huge cost of all the pokes and prods and pills)) is that I am not supposed to drink alcohol while taking this medication. Whaaatt? No egg nog? That is just silly. I might be able to last a couple days without a beer, but not through the weekend and certainly not through Thanksgiving. We’ll see how I do. She said it MIGHT make me sick, so maybe I’ll risk it once and see how things go.
Life with a semi-half-sort of-not-relationship is not so good lately. He’s moody and won’t talk about it. He invites me over only to ignore me. I’ll deal with it this week because I’m a sex deprived lunatic, but as soon as that is gone I’m gone. I’ve said it before, but this time I really mean it. Not without fair warning though. Although I hate the ridiculous idea of having to bed and pry to get him to talk to me, it really needs to be done, once more, before I walk.
I like him, really I do. I like him a lot. But I’m the woman, I have the periods. There is no reasonable explanation for him to sulk the way he has been or to shut me out tighter than an 18 year old virgin. No thank you. Commitment-phobic I can handle, just not the roller coaster of moods that leave me feeling guilty, depressed, and un-satisfied. Men, can’t live with them, but I sure as hell can live without them and I might be doing just that pretty soon.
In addition to his ever changing moods I have my family to tip toe around. This weekends episode of “who’s emotions mean more” between my sister and I have left me tired and worn down. Just in time for Thanksgiving. Everyone expects me to apologize because to them I’m much farther down on the totem pole of “emotions that actually matter”, but I don’t think I will. I’m not sorry. I didn’t do a single thing wrong except for get fed up with the absurd comments that were being made, mostly at cost to only me. No, I don’t think I will. I can be the bad guy for a while longer because I won’t be walked on. Not this time anyway. Today they can all be let down and whisper about how insensitive I am. I really truly don’t care. When people can step into my shoes, and see how things looks while working 60 plus hours a week….THEN if they still think I’m the un-reasonable one, maybe I’ll apologize. But they won’t even try to look at it from my side…..so I refuse to give into theirs.
Pretty much every one is just a pain in my flabby ass. I wish I could dump them all and not just the man. I wish that was the answer to the problems……all of them.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
Bite the Bullet
Never mind that I have a small history of bad decisions and procrastination. And the two work together to pit the devil himself against me.
I got divorced about, oh, two years later than I should have. And the worst part is that HE left ME and not the other way around. SO, I wasted 3 years of my life trying to be a house wife. Cooking (with my easy bake oven) and sometimes cleaning and working an average of 2 jobs at a time. Okay, I’ll admit that I only worked part time for a while. But I made up for it later. Let’s face it, I wasn’t the best wife ever. And that’s okay because he was far from the best husband. He ranked right along the lines of Kevin Federline….only he was the original. Kevin probably learned all of his bad husband habits from my ex. I’m very sure that they could be best friends. They can start a bad husband club.
Anyway, bad decisions. I’ve made a lot of them. And I never seem to catch on early enough to do something about it. I’ve spent the last year and a half in and out of bed with more than a few men. Every time I think, “Man, I am really taking a risk here. For someone who isn’t so trusting I’m being a little TOO trusting”. I know not one of them have been to the Dr. None of them have peed in a little plastic cup, or had needles stuck in their arm just to make sure they were in tip top shape for me and my body. Never mind the one that knocked me up and disappeared (after I’d found out that I was only one of many women in his bed-land.
So what I’m saying is that I guess it’s my turn to learn a new lesson. A lesson in protection and monogamy perhaps. Or maybe I need to learn to re-arrange my morals. Either way I’ll be seeing the Dr bright and early Monday morning so I can pee in a little plastic cup and have swabs of this and that taken; because I’m pretty sure that one of these men shouldn’t have been trusted. It’s an awkward sort of decision to come to in ones life. I’ve had many days where I pretended that everything was fine….and maybe it is. Maybe there is just some other NORMAL explanation for the issues I’m having. Even so, I need to know. Doubtfull that it is life changing…potentially life changing perhaps? I think that sums it up.
STD’s sound worse than getting pregnant, but a bottle of pills can cure an STC (well, most of them) and only an abortion can cure pregnancy. Or, as in my case, a miscarriage, which bythe way I don’t recommend, ouch! So we can add another thing to my long list of fuck ups, and fuck downs. I’m sure there will be more but hopefully not another one like this. This is one lesson I’m hoping I’ve actually learned from, regardless of what the outcome is.
*For some reason I think women who work 60 hours a week and can’t get a boyfriend to save their life should be exempt from any sort of disease. Even if I didn’t fall into this category I would still think that they should be exempt. It would just be a nice way for the universe to help them out after all the shit they’ve already been though…that I’VE already been through. I know…it’s not going to happen.
I got divorced about, oh, two years later than I should have. And the worst part is that HE left ME and not the other way around. SO, I wasted 3 years of my life trying to be a house wife. Cooking (with my easy bake oven) and sometimes cleaning and working an average of 2 jobs at a time. Okay, I’ll admit that I only worked part time for a while. But I made up for it later. Let’s face it, I wasn’t the best wife ever. And that’s okay because he was far from the best husband. He ranked right along the lines of Kevin Federline….only he was the original. Kevin probably learned all of his bad husband habits from my ex. I’m very sure that they could be best friends. They can start a bad husband club.
Anyway, bad decisions. I’ve made a lot of them. And I never seem to catch on early enough to do something about it. I’ve spent the last year and a half in and out of bed with more than a few men. Every time I think, “Man, I am really taking a risk here. For someone who isn’t so trusting I’m being a little TOO trusting”. I know not one of them have been to the Dr. None of them have peed in a little plastic cup, or had needles stuck in their arm just to make sure they were in tip top shape for me and my body. Never mind the one that knocked me up and disappeared (after I’d found out that I was only one of many women in his bed-land.
So what I’m saying is that I guess it’s my turn to learn a new lesson. A lesson in protection and monogamy perhaps. Or maybe I need to learn to re-arrange my morals. Either way I’ll be seeing the Dr bright and early Monday morning so I can pee in a little plastic cup and have swabs of this and that taken; because I’m pretty sure that one of these men shouldn’t have been trusted. It’s an awkward sort of decision to come to in ones life. I’ve had many days where I pretended that everything was fine….and maybe it is. Maybe there is just some other NORMAL explanation for the issues I’m having. Even so, I need to know. Doubtfull that it is life changing…potentially life changing perhaps? I think that sums it up.
STD’s sound worse than getting pregnant, but a bottle of pills can cure an STC (well, most of them) and only an abortion can cure pregnancy. Or, as in my case, a miscarriage, which bythe way I don’t recommend, ouch! So we can add another thing to my long list of fuck ups, and fuck downs. I’m sure there will be more but hopefully not another one like this. This is one lesson I’m hoping I’ve actually learned from, regardless of what the outcome is.
*For some reason I think women who work 60 hours a week and can’t get a boyfriend to save their life should be exempt from any sort of disease. Even if I didn’t fall into this category I would still think that they should be exempt. It would just be a nice way for the universe to help them out after all the shit they’ve already been though…that I’VE already been through. I know…it’s not going to happen.
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