Fucking work.

There was a time in my life where, if I'd had the sort of morning I've had today, I would've walked out of the office and never come back.  (Except maybe to pick up my last paycheck.) 

I've grown up since then, become an adult.  Responsible thoughts like "What about health insurance?" and "But you don't have a week's pay held back - if you leave today, there's no more money coming after your vacation pay" keep me from walking out and completely fucking up my financial peace. 

Oh, but in my heart - in my heart I'd love to make a grand exit complete with lots of yelling and "fuck you!"s. 

That's not completely true.  In my heart, I'd like for people to stop attacking me and treating me like I'm an asshole when I try to come up with solutions to the problems we face.  In my heart, I'd like to be able to ask a question and get a straight answer.  In my heart, I'd like to be able to discuss complicated situtations like professional adults, rather than listen to yelling or attitude or bitchiness. 

I'm losing hope that the things I want are possible.  I'm realizing that it is time to drum up a new resume and start to put some feelers out there.  I'm realizing that the perks of my job aren't necessarily worth the cost of my sanity. 

But I'll be a grown-up about it.  I'll do the right thing.  Not because it makes me feel better or because it's the right thing to do, but because I can't afford to go out any other way. 

A Hump Day Haiku

Big changes coming at work.  

Opportunity -

Yeah, yeah, I hear you knocking.  

Attitude is everything.

The good, bad, ugly - 

it can come back to haunt you.  

I hear a chirping.

Smoke detector dying;

brings back memories from Camp.

I could write all day,

tap out syllables

with fingers on the table.  

But I have to go to work,

make the drums and stuff,

So we can pay the mortgage.

Happy Labor Day

The hot, it is gone.  The air is crisp and cool and begs for long sleeves and pajama pants and hot tea and a good book on the front porch.

I believe I've just planned my day.

I'd give up, but that's not going to make that dress fit, either.

Remember when I said something about how if I cheat I'm only cheating myself?  I was so bad this week, and it shows on the scale that hasn't moved in the right direction.


Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It's okay though.  I'm regrouping.  I'm accepting my consequences and making new plans.  5 miles yesterday - yes, it was the hottest day of the year, at 106 or so.  Yes, 2.5 miles were very uphill.  Yes, it sucked balls.  Yes, I felt awesome after it was over.

And then I took a cold shower and Jimi got in with me and when I was finished I opened the shower curtain to get a towel and there stood Jimi's brother and his friend, hollering out "Who's in the shower?" as I flashed them full frontal.

Oh, and my soaking wet panties, shorts, and tank top were strewn throughout the hallway, just enough to make sure they'd have to step over each piece to get to the living room.

They were like an hour early showing up to the house, for the record.  I don't generally shower with my boyfriend with the bathroom door open and sweaty clothes all over the house when I'm expecting company imminently.

We all pretended like it didn't happen.

Two miles this morning, not uphill, and it's pretty cool and comfortable outside right now.  I'm going to have to do that at least every morning before work.  And I've gotta get serious about the upper-body toning - I don't know how else I'm going to melt away enough back-fat to get that fucking zipper closed.

My inches are moving, though, and in the right direction, even.  Just not as quickly as I'd like.  I wanted magic - two weeks in, I wanted that dress to fit perfectly and that scale to say beautiful things I've not seen since my (very) early twenties.

I want to eat cake and ice cream so bad.  And an entire chocolate Easter bunny covered in a quart of peanut butter.  Instead, I think I'm going to go to the grocery and stock up on a bunch of Paleo grub.

In other news, it's Sunday, but not just any Sunday - it's Sunday before a no-work Monday, which makes it like a Super Saturday.  No bellyache at 6 o'clock tonight when I realize work is again looming on the horizon.

Happy Sunday!

It's just a bottle of pills.

I bought a bottle of prenatal vitamins about a year ago, the day I peed on a stick and it showed two lines.  I was so excited.  I bought a pregnancy book, too, which promptly scared the shit out of me and was banished to my bookcase.  (Who knew ham was bad?  Holy crap!)

My surprise only stuck around for a week, and then a week after that it was all over; my life was back to "normal".

I banished the prenatals for a couple months, then my hormones went into overdrive and I could think of nothing but getting pregnant again; I dug them out of the closet and started taking them nightly, so I would be prepared, covered, all set when the next set of double lines appeared.  

It's been almost a year; the vitamin bottle is empty, the book has been passed to my pregnant sister/cousin, and if peed on a stick right now, there would only be one line.

I think I'm okay with it all, with the way everything has played out.  I'd say "no big deal", but then I'd have to ascribe another cause to these tears welling up.

I thought I'd be a mom by now.  I really did.  I thought for sure nothing would go wrong and everything would be perfect.  When things went wrong, I was shocked.  How cruel reality can be.

Then I was going to be pregnant by Christmas.  When that didn't happen, I thought, "Surely by summer."  It's September.

I'm accepting that maybe "parents" isn't a title we're destined to claim.  As I type those words, I'm thinking in the back of my mind, "but I'm only 31.  Lots of women have babies at 32, 33, 34..."

Getting pregnant is something I always thought I'd be able to do whenever I decided I was ready to do it.  Even now, I still hold this little thought that says, "If I bought some of those ovulation predictor things, or charted my temperature; if I really TRIED, I'd be successful."  Maybe it's true.  The fear that maybe it's not is what keeps me from taking those steps.

I thought we'd be parents by now.  I thought for sure it was our reality.

I believe things come to you when you're ready for them; that the universe has a way of putting people, places, things in your life at precisely the right moments, just when you need them, or maybe not until you're able to cope with them.  I hope it's just not our turn yet, not our time.  I fear it may never be our turn, but maybe there's something different, better out there for us.  The not knowing is the hardest part; I feel like I could accept the answer either way, if only I could just know what it is.