random title goes here

Coming home today, this dumbfuck flashed his headlights at me. wtf? You drive right up my goddamn arse and you don't pay attention so buddy, when I indicate (you know, 'indicate'. From the latin 'to use that stick thing hanging off the side of your steering wheel' Yeah, that. Moron. ) to let you know I'm turning left in four, three, two, one seconds, it's not my frikkin fault you're picking your nose, whistling dixie and missing my cues.

Goddamn but I hate people on my road.

Yesterday I was that person I hate when I wandered through the car park and in front of a car. Sorry dude. Though as sure as eggs are eggs, the guy driving has pissed me off at some point in my life, or is certain to do so if he hasn't already (he's breathing, nuff said) so if I see him again, I'm jusst going to slash his tyres, and then we'll be even. What say?

Moving right along.

I should've written yesterday, when I had just got back from the reproductive unit and was all tra la! I'm still all tra la, so I guess it doesn't matter. Hmm.

Going scientific kind of goes against what I believe about our bodies and our minds and that connection and bla bla bla, and how we create our own reality. Going scientific I thought was forcing something that maybe should evolve. No, I'm not stoned. What I am is running out of time, what with being an old crone and all, so rather than wait for my body and mind to evolve enough become fecund and delightful, which may take til I'm dead, I'm going to force this fertility issue. So I went along yesterday thinking I'd have to leave my universe loving flower child self at the door. (as an aside, this place is really nice. There's a waterfall in the reception area and new magazines in the waiting area. Joy! And I've been bar coded. All I need do when I arrive in future is scan my card and voila!)

So yesterday I went in at 9.20am to get my day four bloods drawn and my ultrasound. I generously donated a vial of my finest and then hobbled down the hallway with Jo for my scan. She noticed my leg and said, quite simply "Oh, it's your right leg...' and I knew. (da dum) (See, holistically speaking, our bodies reflect our emotions. Right side is the physical side, leg is moving forward, so this right leg o'mine may be because I'm scared of the future I have the power to create. If it was my left leg, I'd say fear of going forward emotionally. There's a good book but dammit, Jo reminded me of the name yesterday and I forgot. Bugger. :mad: ) I knew she was like minded, and she was.

We talked for a good twenty minutes or so, me with my legs in stirrups, Jo at my feet and flourishing the magic wand for emphasis, me with the breeze ruffling up my nether regions. Despite that, it was comforting to know I'd not stepped so far away from my heart. We spoke of the universe, our personal power, and infertility and how we both believe we have the power to switch it on and off ourselves. Both Jo's children were born via IVF and she wondered about that. As much as she loves her children, she said the time wasn't right. Her marriage has since broken up and she believes now that she had trouble conceiving because the relationship didn't support family-ness and that science allowed her a family that maybe wasn't meant to be.

I got to thinking about that.

IVF isn't foolproof, it does have a failure rate, so why does it work sometimes and others not? None of us infertiles wants to be so, not consciously, but we both agreed that infertility was our inner self saying we weren't ready yet. Maybe science isn't forcing something that's not meant to be but rather, allowing something that would be, if our inner self wasn't freaking the fuck out and getting in the way?

Then that got me pondering the concept of success and failure. I tried writing about it here but it sounded totally flaky, and while I'm fun! and stuff! my thoughts aren't generally flaky. Jo and I spoke of it before I left (the success v failure thing, not the me being flaky thing) and if someone so ensconced in scientifically assisted reproduction agrees with me, then maybe my thoughts aren't so flaky after all.

Science doesn't give us possibilities. Science gives us logical solutions to universal problems. Logic though, does it not impede possibility if science cannot give us the answer? Because sometimes what doesn't seem logically possible, is.

As an aside, I find it interesting that we go about this world thinking who we are is, well, who we are, when in fact we learn who we are from other people's reaction to us. Our perception of self is drawn from others' perception of us, so who we are is not who we think we are, it's who someone else thinks we are. Who we are is that person in this moment, unmarred by fears of the future or regrets of the past.

Still not stoned, in case you were wondering....

Onto the scan! It wasn't bad, not at all-and way better than the olden days when you had to drink the liquid equivilant of your own body weight then have that scanny thing run over your gelled up stomach, toes wiggling while trying not to pee on the talbe. This was transvaginal so I got to pee beforehand, which is always good, and call me a freak but it was a piece of cake. There was a screen in front of me so Jo I got to see my uterus (I waved) and my ovaries (they waved back). Both ovaries had black spots all over them, which she immediately explained as immature follicles waiting to get the chemical message to mature and release an egg. I made some comment about worrying, hence my questions, and she poiinted out, quite rightly too, that I didn't sound worried, I sounded like I wanted to be learn. Damn, but I'm glad I met her. Upshot is my ovaries are on the right track and so far, everything looks good. I'll get the official results in four and a bit weeks and, shoot, then what? (wouldn't it be a gas if I was a total fertile Myrtle and it was Guido's swimmers? Those little guys are probably too stoned to find their way)

The woman who took my blood, Sharon, mentioned that I may have to do something called a tracking cycle, where they take blood every day or so to get a good look at what your hormones are doing from go to whoa.

You know, I'm already worrying about having a capricorn baby because, ick. Like I'm going to get pregnant right away....and no, I'm not stoned. A child's starsign might not maketh the child, but I don't want to take any chances so maybe I'll wait til May or October, cuz I want a water sign child, not demon spawn.

I messaged Guido when I got home to ask if he was interested in how I went to day and of course, he messaged back some crap about being interested but also being too busy. Like fuck off. If I expected to talk to him stat, I'd have called, not messaged, so I gave him the sms equivilant of what I just said, and you know what? He called and said he'd made himself unbusy and how did it go. See? It's not that hard to be thoughful, and I think he is, once he gets past his initial panic. Now remember, this is the guy I've been sleeping with for years who I do NOT want to have a child with who does NOT want me to have his child. I think Guido is a good man at heart. I can't rely on him for support, or at least, freely offered support. I think he proved yesterday that when given the opportunity to be supportive, he can be, but he lacks the ability to see how he can be on his own, mostly because he is pretty (read: totally) self focussed. Which isn't a bad thing, it's just how it is.

The other day I realised there's a whole side to me he's never seen. The fun, romantic, funny and affectionate side I show to my (very few) friends because he's so freaked about ever being seen to be my boyfriend. I told him a few months back that it's his problem, deal with it because I'm done monitoring my behaviour to make him feel safe, because I've done that and he's still scared. Thing is, I'm left with old habits and I'm not in the habit of being affectionate with him like I am with my (few) other friends. Our relationship is really hard to explain btw.

Mum called last night and said not a word about my decision to seek fertility treatment. Eh, at least there are no surprises with her. She rambled on about herself and bitched about nanna and grumbled about how ill she is, and lo! she has another new doctor who she hopes will find the key to what ails her. The key however, is inside her and is within her reach. Nothing will fix mum, because to be fixed one must be willing to heal, and her life is about being unwell and not in her control. Oh, she controls her life, but she's familiar with feeling she's been forced to hand the remote to someone else. First it was dad's fault her life was not her own, now it's nanna's. She, as we all do, has created her reality because there is nothing organically wrong with her, not that anyone can find, but she's not well, so she keeps moving and trying to find someone to 'fix' her.

That's not to say she's not unwell. She is. At least I think she is. I believe she does haves all these symptoms and that these symptoms are real. Although...she seemed okay when she was her and wehn I was there three or so years ago...hmm...anyway, I think she creates unwellness, not imagines it, because it is real, but it's symptom of her mind more than it is her body.

She went on to say the same old shit about nanna, and everything she finds odious in nanna is things she does. I don't tell her that though, cuz I'm a saint, ahem, and anyway, what would be the point?

Mum is full of anger and resentment so I sit and make agreeable noises while she free associates. I try to tune out but it does get to me and I do still feel angsty with a touch of the 'what about me?'s. And guilt? Oh the guilt...

Mum is comfortable being ill. I realised that yet again last night. Funny how you 'get' things, but get and reget them several times til you really get it. I probably still haven't reached the peak of gettiness yet either. Last night she wah wahed about how she's never lived the life she wants to live, when really, she's led a good life. How she perceives though, is what counts. Dad's been dead twelve years and yes, it is sad, but she can't hang her hat on that anymore, not credibly, so she keeps finding other resasons to be unwell. Now it's nanna. She openly blames nanna for her unwellness. It's easier to blame someone else for your life. First it was dad, now nanna. This victim's life is the life she's most comfortable with. Now before you all boo me for being so mean, you have no idea of the time I've given to counselling her over the phone. She thinks I'm brilliant on the one hand, then dismisses me pretty darn readily on the other. Usually when I've had something contstructive to say, ahem. Add to that the anorexia I've had so badly for so many years. Bit of background: Shortly after I succumbed, my parents moved to Italy and left me here, and in effect left me here to die, and I've been alone ever since. I don't know if I'm bitter as much as I can't understand how a parent could abandon a child like that. I'm angry still I think. Maybe. I don't know what I am really, so when mum wah wahs about never having the life she wanted, I think, well, you had a life, and I was condemned to not having one at all, so really, I win. Neener.

I still do everything pretty much alone because it's what I'm used to and how I feel safe.

I swear mum has a version of Munchaussens By Proxy (whatever). When I was a kid, she dragged me from doctor to doctor til she found one to prescribe me serapax and then another who gave me sinequin. She was the depressed one though, and I was only twelve.

My brother still doesn't talk to me, and while my experience of it all is totally subjective, while I agree I was difficult, I was also sick. They acted with all their own faculties intact and I hadn't even been sick for a year when they gave up on me.

So you see, when she comes over all Poor Me, I zone out. And then I feel mean and then I feel sad for her. :(

Eh, I'm done with her. At least, I am for today.

And that guilt I mentioned? This is when I feel it, when I talk about her. All the time I wrote the above, I felt guilty. I don't mean to paint a bad picture of her, but the things I say, even without the benefit of my running, bitter commentary, make her sound like a bad mother, cuz truth is, she probably was one.

sigh.