May
09

The Spring Of My Discontent.

I know this blog has been whiny lately. And I wish I could say that was about to change, starting with THIS VERY ENTRY. But guess what? It’s not. I am thinking of changing the name of this site from “Flotsam” to “Whiny’s Whinings” or “Pule N’ Moan,” or maybe “Complainy McKvetch’s House of Displeasure.” Or perhaps something punchier, like “FRET!”
It has been one of those weeks, and it’s only Tuesday.

Miscarriage: Ruining Friendships Since 280 B.C.
Saturday night, I returned from a rollicking dinner out with Jennifer to find the Nearly at home looking dismal, instead of at the party he was supposed to be attending.
“We’re not friends with Jonesy* anymore,” he informed me.
“Why?”
“Just trust me.”
“No, really. Why?”
This went on for a while.

Now, you should know that Jonesy is a friend of the Nearly’s from grad school. He is a bit over-boisterous and jokey–but his over-boisterousness obviously cloaks a kernel of pain, and he has been good to the Nearly. He has become one of our pathetically few friends as a couple.
Eventually the Nearly remembered that it is no use attempting to keep anything from me while also attempting to keep his sanity, and he told me the following story:
He was driving Jonesy to the aforementioned party when Jonesy asked where I was.
“Oh, she’s with one of her Infertility Friends,” said the Nearly. (Like the SuperFriends, presumably, only with higher FSH levels.)
Jonesy and the Nearly got to talking about my last miscarriage. The Nearly mentioned that we found out via ultrasound that the pregnancy had ended, three days before I actually miscarried.
Jonesy LAUGHED. Then he said:
“Gross! You mean she was walking around with a dead baby inside her?”

What is the appropriate response to a comment like this?
– “Gross? Really? We found it a little exciting.”
– “Well, she wasn’t ‘walking around’ so much as ‘prone on the couch,’ but yeah.”
– “If you think THAT’s disgusting, you should have been there for the actual passing of tissue!”

So—Jonesy is dead to us. As dead as that baby I was walking around with for three days. Haha! Ahem.

Overheard…
Small Intestine (to Ovaries): So…how about ovulating?
Ovaries pointedly ignore Small Intestine; adjust their follicular strings of pearls.
Large Intestine: Look, this Metformin is really getting to us. Enough’s enough, don’t you think? You’ve had your fun—let’s set an ovulation date right now. How about tonight?
Left Ovary: I think I’m washing my hair tonight…
Right Ovary (giggling): Me too.

Fun Facts:
Hours I spent on school last weekend: 13
Number of my fellow students for whom I have developed a burning hatred: 2
Hours until our move-in date: 417
Number of boxes I have procured: 5
Number of weeks since I have done laundry: 2
Number of pairs of underwear I am wearing right now: 0

Yesterday I helped Jennifer–the classmate of mine who attended Confabulous–set up her very first blog. Here are some fun facts about Jennifer:
1. She has the largest cat I have ever seen.
2. She has pretty black hair, like Snow White.
3. Her front steps are cunningly crumbling away, the better to deter potential house burglars.

Help her think of an idea for a blog tagline, as I notice she STILL hasn’t changed hers from the default.
UPDATE: Jennifer has finally tired of my nagging and chosen a tagline. A quote by Goethe. I think she might be too classy for me…

I have decided that if my temperature doesn’t go up tomorrow, indicating that I have FINALLY OVULATED MY GOD, I am going on a bender. Of course, I only have 45 or so minutes of free time to eke from my schedule, so it will be a short bender, but still.

*Names have been changed.

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |