Tag Archives: i think i might hate 2013

36

BY bonnie

So it was my birthday more than a week ago and I haven’t even blogged about that yet. Someone should take my temperature.

I was pretty much brokenhearted* that I couldn’t responsibly make Disneyland happen this year so I was trying to heal my soul by finding a suitable alternative. And then I realized I could go to Julian, a tiny historic mining town in our local mountains. If I crossed my fingers hard enough, it might even be cold like actual winter (or, as my frister calls it, a theme park winter). And I crossed my fingers hard enough, I guess because it was about 45 that day. My San Diegan blood was beside itself with excitement over such a dramatic experience. The children on the trip with us were less pleased. They were all, “I’m cold” and “This weather is cold” and also “Can we go inside now because it’s cold.” We even saw snow:

theme park snow

My family and I visit Julian on a fairly regular basis. It’s the place (the only place, really) to go pick apples in the autumn, and there are some good campgrounds in the mountains nearby. But I’d never gone for one of the carriage rides. I was raised by grandparents who had lived through the depression and we were never allowed to do frivolous things like have fun because they were too expensive. Sometimes I stop suddenly and think, but wait. I’m a grownup now. I CAN DECIDE TO BE FRIVOLOUS IF I WANT. So we went on a carriage ride.

Did I mention that Bethany and her family were there, too? Cause they were. Which was extra fun because they’d never been before and we took them on the grand tour of important things like the candy store and the cemetery and pie. (What? We like cemeteries, okay?)

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this here but for about 10 years I couldn’t consume cow dairy. I discovered that it gave me emotional reactions which would cause me to turn into the Hulk and yell and throw a lot of things. Eventually I figured out that I could tolerate dairy from other animals without the same issues. But back when I moved in September I ordered pizza to “pay” people for helping me and they didn’t take the extra home so I had a lot of cheesy pizza around and very little self-control so I wound up eating *cough*anamountofpizza*cough* and didn’t even throw one thing. So, after ten years, apparently I can have dairy again. I FEEL SO FREE OKAY.

The point of this all is pie. Julian is famous for their apple pies and they top it with cinnamon ice cream. And it is the literal best food in the entire galaxy. And it had been so long since I’ve had any. And I don’t want to go saying anything too crazy here or anything, but it might have been almost as good as a trip to Disneyland.

In the evening we headed back to town and had dinner with some friends where someone may or may not have misheard my story about the farting carriage horse as “whores” and we all laughed until we peed a little.

Last year I had high hopes for being 35. I mean. It wasn’t 33. 33 was a load of shit. It was, to quote myself, a fucking motherfucker. And 34 was pretty good. So I figured 35 would be nice, too. And I won’t ever say that 35 was as bad as 33 because no one died, but it sure was harder in a lot ways. So I’m over having expectations for years or ages. I just hope I can survive 36. If it’s not too horrible then it’s all the better. My friend Claire texted me early in the year and asked how my new year was going and I was just all, “Whatever. Who cares. What even is happiness. Joy is overrated.” Because I have partly evolved into a french art film, apparently. And I don’t think I’m depressed, really, I’m just jaded. Life has been relentless and I am tired. I’m taking each moment as it comes and just trying to keep swimming. So I don’t know if 36 will be better – god, please don’t let it be worse – but I’ve let any expectations go. Here’s to another year which will hopefully suck somewhat less! At the very least I can expect to giggle until the end of time about the farting whores of Julian.

*Not EVEN exaggerating. Checking my SoCal privilege. Ahem.

Let's talk about prolapse. FOR FEMINISM!, This is a Woman

My Pelvic Floor’s Personal Soap Opera (In other words, avoid this if you don’t want to know about my ladybits.)

BY bonnie

Awhile back I wrote this list.

Since then:
~I’ve had two cats sneezing blood all over the house (oh that kitty cold the kitten brought with her from the shelter? was calicivirus. Because of course.)
~I’ve had an injured wrist which hurt so badly I could not wash my hair (or anything else).
~I’ve been dealing with an unpleasant situation at my son’s school that wasn’t resolved the way I’d have hoped and resulted in his withdrawal of all but one short class.
~The cats both STILL have fleas. You know worms are coming next. FUCK YOU, FLEAS.
~And now my uterus is definitely falling out. Or maybe just my vagina. Hell if I know.

I was feeling so renewed and hopeful after I decided to start a new round of Happy Things, but now I’m super low again. Because of course that’s why.

I’m at the point where I am fairly certain life will never just be normal again. I’m not asking for it to be easy, even. Just possible.

But here’s the actual point of this entry: sometimes vaginas fall out.

My first thought when I realized what was happening was pretty extreme embarrassment. I didn’t want anyone to know ever. I felt almost like I was bad at being female. And I was glad I didn’t have a boyfriend right now. And then I realized how fucked up those thoughts and feelings were and that’s when I resolved to talk about it loudly and often.

You’re welcome.

Originally I was waiting to get it confirmed by a doctor (because it would be a little embarrassing to cry rogue vagina over nothing) but then I canceled the appointment I had scheduled last week. Partly for lack of a babysitter, partly for lack of money just at this moment (I should be covered by the Affordable Care Act in January to which I give a very legitimate THANK YOU, OBAMA!). And canceling that appointment is a decision that I made rationally and based on facts and that I completely regret today. Because I don’t know how long I will wait for another appointment at this point.

At this particular moment I am merely in mild discomfort unless you count my emotions which are hovering the edge of full blown breakdown at the moment. Not because of the prognosis – because I know I’ll live a long and happy life. But because I cannot handle bodies being broken. Anything beyond a simple cut and I lose my shit. I mean. A couple of days ago I posted a panicky picture of my injured wrist on Facebook because it looked weird. The idea that my body parts are not all in their right places is extremely upsetting to me. And that is an understatement.

I also feel extremely fragile right now. Like if I do strenuous things like standing up or coughing or pooping I might make it worse all of a sudden (because it did get worse all of a sudden). I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. Only I am also made of eggshells.

So now my uterus is trying to take a quick vacation. Maybe she’s not really understanding the ramifications of this, but if she leaves my body, she doesn’t really get to enjoy her vacation. The thing is, though, that I’d wish her good riddance if it were the best choice for me right now. I’m done with babies. I’m BEYOND ready to be done with having periods. And I know it’s not the “right” thing to say in hippie circles and that I should just be happy with her for doing her job so well all these years or whatever, but at this moment, my uterus and I are not really on speaking terms anyway so she can fuck right off. But surgery is the more invasive and expensive option with further health ramifications that might not outweigh my current situation. And also that thing about broken bodies. I would likely need some heavy psychotherapy to heal from surgery (pretty much any surgery, really).

Anyway. I will, against any sense of decency, be updating here about my pelvic floor’s personal soap opera. FOR FEMINISM!

Because when it rains, it rains internal body organs. From your body.

I Own a Home. WTF?, Just Life, The Zebra

BECAUSE OF COURSE THAT’S WHY

BY bonnie

Right now I’m moving. Well, actually, the move itself happened over the weekend. But you know. I’m living out of boxes. And by “right now” really I just mean “over the last month and into the next” anyway. So my life have been one third packing, one third painting and fixing the new place, and one third studying neurons n brain shit. And about 10% sneaking in episodes of Supernatural when I should be painting, packing, studying, or sleeping. Also I’m bad at math. Things I am not doing right now even though I should be: planning my kids’ school year, returning emails, working on SOAM, sharing Lady Links, cooking any meals at all, eating food that is not cold pizza, shaving my legs and armpits (of course those last ones are debatable “shoulds”). And so the Universe was all, HEY BONNIE YOU DON’T LOOK OVERWHELMED ENOUGH LET ME FIX THAT FOR U. And these are the things that have turned a busy month into ONE GIANT LONG THURSDAY.

The weather has been 90 and muggy for like three weeks straight
The kids caught colds (and I had to drag them along with me anyway)
Ants. Are. Everywhere. In my closet. INSIDE the dishwasher. ON MY SHOPPING CART AT TARGET.
My uterus started falling out
The cat got fleas despite being fully medicated
I HATE THE WEATHER.
I ordered a mattress from Ikea and spent 9 hours waiting for it to be delivered and it wasn’t. It took four trips back to the store, and two hours on hold to figure that shit out. (They refunded my delivery fee.)
FUCKING ANTS. I FUCKING HATE ANTS.
The cat got worms from the fleas
NO BUT REALLY THIS WEATHER.
When I was taking my test for my psych class, the test froze when I was halfway through and I had to start over from the beginning.
I keep throwing away things I need.
I actually returned something really important that was my own thing and not even supposed to be returned.
Having to deal with the financial aid office at the college. Enough said.
The fleas were all FUCK U, ADVANTAGE, WE R STRONGR NAOW AND U HAS NO POWR OVER US
GODDAMN THIS SHITASS FUCKHOLE WEATHER.
My son’s mortal enemy (no. really.) turned out to be in his class this year.
We came home to a surprise planned power outage. No. Really.
I have a major spam problem going on here because I haven’t had time to figure out how to stop that yet because I am computer-stupid sometimes and I currently have 1,591 comments to approve or delete. NO IT’S OK I HAVE TIME.

So to sum up:
I HATE THE WEATHER, I HATE ANTS, I HATE FLEAS AND WORMS, AND I HATE ALL THE OTHER THINGS, TOO.

You know what I love? My pretty red wall.