disjointed thoughts (or 'why I should write a little bit each day instead of....')

I'm gonna take this opportunity to ramble on about something totally unrelated. It may seem disjointed but hang in there with me, please?

It's been sinking in lately how truly alone I am. The lack of social contacts and friends? Culpa mia, but it's the family thing that's really, really sinking in.

I take my time processing facts

I've never not wanted children, and I've not had a burning desire to have kids, but I knew I wanted to be a mother on day. I haven't used contraception for over two years and I don't even know if I ovulate. Then again, I'd say if I was ovulating, I'd know about it. Like, don't all women know? Anyway, it's safe to say I'm infertile. And at thirty nine, single and infertile, it looks like I'm never going to have kids, ever. And that hurts, one helluva lot.

I don't think it's about reproducing myself, or filling a void or making the family I never had yadda yadda yadda. I think this is about biology or chemistry or hormones or whatever, and my dna is telling me to reproduce it because after all, that's the only reason we're here, to make more of ourselves, not for some social reason, but because of a primal need to perpetuate our species. We think we're above primal urges because we're sentient but imo, we're not and imo, we're guided by them and all this stuff we've achieved *gesturing toward the entire world* doesn't mean anything really, not in the big picture. What matters is trees and flowers and fluffy bunnies and making more and more of it all. We're driven by a need to not become obselete because if we became obselete, what we think matters *gesturing again to the entire world* would have so little value in the big picture that it would crumble away to dust, and no one would even notice.

Anyway, have I argued against this 'aibee wants to reproduce because she's filling a void' idea enough?

So, last November when mum was here, she made the comment that she's sad she's never gonna be a grandmother (complete with requisite tragic woe is me expression. Um, hello? It's not always all about you mum. I'm sad at never being a mother. Fortunately her predictabilty is no longer such a source of distress) and that she'd finance any ventures I took into motherhood. So I thought about it and accepted, and told her that my acupuncture and TCM friend (aka Peter Prickles) has had great success with his clients and would she help me out if I chose that modality? You guessed it. No. (as an aside, if you're gonna offer a cash incentive for an outcome, do you really have a say in how that outcome is recieved? she obviously has no idea how traumatic reproductive medicine is to the person's body and psyche)

Fast forward.

Legislation is, or was, that to be eligible for reproductive assistance, you must be in a committed relastionship, which rules me out, but I've been so torn by this that I called a place called Repromed last week.

I'm seeing a reproductive endocronologist next month, February 28, about donor insemination. I mentioned that I'm not ovulating but dealing with that is but one step in the process of getting knocked up.

I'm not scared, but I'm aware that by deciding to go ahead with this, I've made a choice that, no matter what the outcome, is going to make my lifevery, very hard.

If I succeed, hard. It I fail, hard.

But at least I will have tried.

The timing isn't right as I've not yet got my shit together and made my place in this world, but time isn't on my side, and you know? The things I've chosen to do career wise can be worked around motherhood. ironic, huh?

I feel like I'm playing grownups.

I tried talking to someone else, a parent (and doh! bad choice of support person anna) about this and the response was 'I'm too fertile, how awful is that?!'. I kinda felt like crawling away and dying after that. I don't expect the right or wrong anwers from anyone, I don't expect answers at all. It'd be nice to be heard, is all.

I told Stef over the weekend. He reckons I'll be a good mother (though who would tell you to your face that you're gonna be a bad one?) He's almost acting like I'm asking him to be involved involved, but really, I told him so he can decide now what he wants to do because I want to know NOW if he's gonna be supportive or not. I think not, but it'll be too hard to deal with the consequences of this decision and deal with him flouncing all at the same time. The ball is already rolling, dude, and no matter what happens, it's gonna be hard. I could make the decision for him, seeings as how I know what it's going to be, but...but, but....okay, okay, I admit it. I'm a chicken shit and yes, I want him to completely reinvent his fine self and become someone who willingly says noble things like 'When's your appointment? I'm coming with you'. Not in a 'my woman, my baby' *thumps chest* type way. In an entirely friendly way. A patting me on the hand when he says it way.

Evidently I've been inhaling too deeply while using cleaning products again.

This totally no family thing I'm slowly coming to grips with? Not the major part of this entry but something worth a little eyerolling....I told mum about the appointment, not for support cuz yeah, right, but because she's the one with the bucks, yo. She was all 'I'll call you back darling' (I fucking gag when she calls me that because she hasn't got a loving maternal bone in her body -whoa, bitter much? maybe I'm not as advanced as I think I am).....that was a week ago.

If I ever have a kid, I don't want her anywhere near it, but I need her money to finance this experiment.

So really, I'm still fucked (and yet despite being constantly and metaphorically fucked, am still curiously and stubbornly unknocked up. My thoughts? My body won't perpetuate this nihilistic and destructive gene pool. You think I'm kidding? I'm not)

Moving right along.

I hired a life coach last week, and yesterday she fired me.

*blink*

wtf?

Nah, it's not that bad, she just thinks she's not experienced enough for my special brand of fucked up.

You know, the old 'it's not you it's me' routine.

Whatever.

See, I have all this shit worked out but because I've been on survival mode for so long, I've forgotten how to live. That's my take. I live in my head and forget (read: ignore) my emotions.

Next.

I fucked up my leg in class two fucking weeks ago. I'm Miss Limpy McLimpy and it's driving me crazy. I finally caved and went for x-rays and nope, no stress fracture (see, if a fit person pulls a muscle they're more likely to pull away a bit of bone with the muscle because of the relative strenght of the muscle compared to that of an unfit person) so then I had an ultrasound to rule out a deep vein thrombosis (risk factors: smoking, the pill and inactivity. Negative, negative, negative. I'd say Dr Griffin wasn't ruling out a DVT but ratheer, covering his medical arse, which is a fair thing imo) and no signs of muscle tearing. Nothing is showing up and yet, my leg hurts like fuck.

The interesting thing the x-ray did show was a defect in my lower fibula, attributable to a pervious, early fracture and lo! I did fracture (read: smash into smithereens) my right leg thirty years ago. In fact, exactly thirty years ago. Exactly. Now, when I fractured (read: smashed) my leg, we were on a family holiday interstate so mum and dad didn't take me to hospital for seven hours when I finally convinced them (coughhimcough) I heard the crack and I knew it was broken. And, uh, I'd been saying this for seven hours. Oy. Anyway, we stayed on holiday, my leg was set so incorrectly that when we returned home a week or so later, our orthpopedic neighbour friend freaked out and reset it immediately. Apparently the cast I had on was pulling the fractured (read: smashed) bones apart instead of making them knit, so for an entire week and a bit while on holiday (from my perspective, I use that term loosely) I was in intense pain and kept my mouth shut because I was that kind off kid. Because I'm a froot loop (I typed froot poop first. LOL!) I'm wondering about whether I'm processing some old emotional trauma attached to the experience?

Ramble ramble ramble