Monday, February 04, 2008

I'm....not really sure what this is

I was going to write an entry on Nurse Shithead, the one who totally fucked me over last month. Quick recap, she brickwalled me from treatment when, I know now, she could have (should have) easily told me to call back the following week, or even the week after because having NOT spoken to that slag this month, I know that the IVF action starts three weeks from the date you first call in, meaning, she had three weeks to play with before legally giving me an absolute "no" for that month.

Che fucking moll.

ANYWAY, I was going to write about her (and look! I did!) but figured a more positive way to start the month was to say wahoo, game on, and ahoy there mateys. Bloods on the eighteenth with down regulating commencing shortly thereafter on a date determined by the results.

The luscious angel who took my call this time made me realize what a TOTAL fucking ho that last nurse was, so while I’m (I’m not sure “excited” is the right word to describe how I feel about body slamming my own hormones into submission before ramping my body to dizzying heights with enough of their hormones to make me ovulate like a sow, then being knocked off my gourd [something I am looking forward too] so they can stick a needle [a needle][!!] up my lady business and siphon off a few eggs before putting two of them back in, all plump and ripe and doubling in size every x number of minutes, and then turning me into some kind of freaky human éclair, what with all the delighful I’ll be indulging in throughout the following weeks [months, if when this pregnancy thing takes hold]) looking forward to, in some weird masochistic kind of way, the upcoming event, I’m also crazy angry at fucking ho nurse because had she nto been the phone bitch that day, I’d be loading up on the drugs right now for a retrieval and transfer this month.

Which is such a weird way of describing the beginning of a new human being.

The lawyer is still on the scene and because I'm about to do all this, is all “can you imagine how gorgeous our kids would be?”, which makes me want to kick him in the nuts because yes, I can. Fueling my nut kicking urges are his assertions that “if you’d given some indication you were interested in me when we were teenagers, we’d have got married, had a billion kids, and we’d still be happy now.”.

To which I reply "You're the guy. That was your job.".

Not that I believe that if, etc, we’d have even got married, or that we'd still be married, of that if we were, that we'd still be happy now because "married" and "happy" are not words I'd ever think to use in the same sentence but ANYWAY, I still want to kick him harder when he says things like “I’d have made your life easier” because my life has kind of sucked and if I could turn back time, etc.

On the other hand, I do like hearing about how he loved me then because those years, my teenage years, were SO hard, and when everything else I heard and felt about myself was so ugly, he thought I was beautiful and worth the risk of loving.

But he's not prepared to take that risk now so SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY. God.

I don't reckon I want to take any lurve risks either because, bleah, too hard. Also there are a lot of dipshits you've got to go through before you find out....that either they're ALL dipshits or that you're a total dipshit magnet because the whole exercise proved to be yet another BIGASSED waste of time.

Case in point: this guy I know, Mick, which is totally NOT a pseudonym because seriously, that amount of idiotic doesn't deserve the brainspace it takes me to think of alternate names. So, yes, Mick, who I've known casually for five or six years, has intermittently sent me text messages over that time. More recently though, he's got more...friendly, I guess, and has invited himself over for coffee (will I never learn that "coffee" is a euphemism for "dry hump"?), and has texted me several invitations to either offer to help me get my next child (for real, and I'm not kidding when I tell you that all I said was "I'd love more kids") or to catch up "later". I don't do "later", not do I do ridiculous text message conversations. Unless they're a) funny or b) one liners like "be there in 5". I'm always doing something "later", like working or cleaning or walking or shopping or running errands or catching up with friends who don't text and who do say things like "wanna catch up at 4pm?". "Later" stresses me out because when I think of later, I think of all the shit I have to do later.

POINT BEING, the last time Mick asked me around for coffee "later" I said bla bla, can;t do later, need a time because I'm busy, bla bla. Then he said some SHIT about getting the hint. I texted him back (because LORD knows I love a text message conversation) because it wasn't a hint, it's my life. I'm a sole parent who works. My son is in care two days a week, the rest of the time I'm with him or am working around him. Those two days he's in care? I work. Like a dog, actually, because when when I'm not in paid employment, I'm at home cleaning the crud off the floor or doing the laundry or running errands or whatever the fuck else is on my long assed list of things to do every freakin' day. I felt like a bit of a bitch when he said he said "later" to give me time to do whatever I need to do, so when I collected Daniel, I told him where I was at, that I'm at the store, Daniel's with me, and then we have to run some errands after that. It's six o clock by then so the chance of catching up are minimal because, hello? Two year old, who needs to eat, chillax, and then sleep, so I tell him, thanks for thinking of us, maybe some other day? To which he replies "no".

This from the same man who was all prepared to have children with me not ten days prior to this getting all up in himself because my life has no pause button. It never stops, and while I can sit here and tap out an entry now, it's only because I'm ignoring the patina of disgusting all over the kitchen floor, and believe the bathroom can last another day before exploding into a seething ball of bacteria. My son is sleeping the sleep of the massively over tired right now too, which gives em some time , but that's because I had to work at 7am, and instead of taking him home to nap afterwards, he went to the gym creche so I could work one of my other jobs. There's no one else to rely on when it all gets too much, so it never gets to be too much because it can't be too much. I don't have that option.

That's not a complaint, it's a fact, which is why I don't want to take risks and get my heart broken by more of the same stupidity. Mine and theirs. I simply don;t have time, nor do I have the want to divide myself up even more emotionally.

So if anyone reading wants to court a sole parent, consider this a public service announcement: if they can't find the time to see you, help them make the time. Mop the damn floor for them, or scrub their bathroom, or offer to pick up a few things from the store.

If you're not prepared to do that, what in hell are you doing expecting them to cram even more busy into their life?

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