I feel kind of worn out from being naked and introspective. Dredging up sex memories and remembering my mom and creating art for public show for the first time since the baby I feel very, very much like an exposed nerve ending.
I also feel like my little indulgent world of self here is feeling like a truer more solid expression. I care more about this blog than any other project, connected so much as it is to my collection of spiral-bound notebooks and pretty gift journals that have stopped completely at this point. The idea of readers is overwhelming and terrifying and incredibly, amazingly beautiful. The network and collaboration of writing and linking and thought is extraordinary. Writing for only me in my book has vanished- in there I am now writing to Molly. I’m surprised to find that I don’t feel a loss about my books. I need to return to them, but they will be something entirely different now. Artist’s books… or god I will write a novel or something.
My mind is a picture of Pandora’s box and I can’t sleep yet.
This time 32 years ago was she in labor yet?
How long was her labor?
Why didn’t I ever ask to hear my own birth story?
Seven (7) More (!) Random & Weird Things About Me
who is imagining delivering this as an oral report in class, reading from a crumply paper clumsily lettered in crayon- possibly because she spend eleventy hundred hours last night writing names at Molly’s instruction in said medium, and has crayons on the brain.
Please lodge any meme-whoring complaints to Schmutzie. Yes, I did 7 (Seven) Things already, but when Schmutzie tags me, I answer the call of duty. And I’ve now spent more time with my rattly intro than the actual tofu of the post. We are using vegan metaphors today. And the theme is my body in all its weirdness since I got in that groove with Sketchcast and it (my body, not Sketchcast. Well maybe Sketchcast too…) is a wealth of random weirdness.
- My long finger on the short arm has a fingernail that is endlessly fascinating to both Bu and little Boo. They both like to take hold of the finger and kind of flick the end of the nail. Molly also likes to scratch her head with it. This drives me batshit crazy and they are only allowed to abuse me in this way for as long as it takes to wrestle my digit away.
- My mom cut that finger trimming my baby nails and there is a baby-sized, moon-shaped scar just by my nail bed. This is directly related to the fact that I didn’t cut Molly’s fingernails until she was um, just now.
- The “joint” on my smaller finger’s really just the butt end of my radius? ulna? one of the smaller lower arm bones. The finger attached to that part can’t move. I mean it can if you or I grab it and move it, but I can’t make it move.
- The butt end of that bone is right under the skin. No padding- excellent bludgeon. Will take down a brother in a Preteen Siblings Ultimate Fighting Championship if applied with enough force to his ribcage. (But, alas, he will retaliate by shoving a cat down my PJ’s at my slumber party and the shock of a screaming, clawing, claustrophobic cat in my nightie will make me pee in my sleeping bag.)
- Once, a doctor asked me if I’d like him to remove that useless little finger. The stare of 100% pure WTF silenced him and since then no one has ever asked to amputate any fingers that were failing to be productive members of society.
- My vagina(s)… I could just stop right there probably. But I’ll share a story: I’m 19 and at my first gyno appointment. I am ready to finally have sex, and am diligently planning to start taking BCP’s for one month prior to intercourse. I have a boy, and a nice monogamous one. So there will be no condoms for My First Time Evar, Heterosexual Edition. Good on us for the planning, right? So. The doctor has a thick Indian accent, and she asks me “Are you having relations?” And I misunderstand, thinking she wants to know if I’m in a relationship. I tell her yes. Insert speculum. “Are you sure, dear?” Then I realize she is asking about my not having had sex. I tell her, no, I have not. Yet. But please hand over the script so I can now. She informs me that “Weeeelll…… You need to have little surgery first.” (Side note- never even for a half second occurred to me to wonder about my ability to conceive. It was the first thing out of my mom’s mouth. Neither of us thought to ask if it would ruin a perfectly crunchy natural birth plan.)
- How can a 19 year old girl have two vaginas & need a gynecologist to tell her this? Doesn’t make much sense. This part of the story is vague. I knew it was there, my little wall. I just sort of reacted like Douglas Adams says people do when they see something so out there that their brain refuses to compute it: my brain stuck it’s fingers in its ears and went, “lalalalala.” I rationalized it away as part of my hymen or something I guess? Cannot explain this part satisfactorily, but I was both shocked and not surprised at all when Dr. K drew me a little diagram of my vagina that looked like the Don’t/No symbol. The one with a slash in a circle? The wall was the slash. That was the gynecologist view from outside. My sketches are more illustrative I think.
I tag the wonderful writers of:
Busha Full of Grace
Laura Without Labels
This Wabi Sabi Life
Sleepless in Cologne
Ramblings of a Pseudo Intellectual
Have you done it already? I want more! Or, ignore…as ya like:)
I’m taking a week or two off the blogosphere. (I’ll check in to see when Brooke’s baby comes, though.) I just feel like I’ve had diarhhea of the blog lately and I need to pause. I also need for every free moment to be spent on artwork for the show. Deadline in two weeks.
So I’ll see you in a while. Blessings:)
Mother of God, I am insane. My evidence:
Day 15 or so of cycle: get busy with Bu, less than careful with regards to staying a mom of one.
Day 16: Emergency Contraception, after sleeping on it and deciding the timing was poor enough that taking the pills was a good plan. No side effects w00t!
Day 25 or 26: Bleeding. Early again. Well, whatev. At least the pills worked. Unless IT’S IMPLANTATION SPOTTING OMGZ!!!
Day 1: Nope, it’s a period. Cool. Excellent. But crap! I’m totally off my new moon schedule and *pout* I liked my new moon schedule!
Day 2: Read new pregnancy blog. Feel srsly sad I will never have a raspberry-sized alien baby in my belly waters again. Whatev again. Chocolate nao plz?
Bloody effin’ hell. Back to the doc. Corneal boo-boo worse. They may have to brillo pad the motherfucker. Funtastic, baby. Clickie for full story.
OK, now I’m leaving the interwebz like a smart person and reasting my eyes. Am bloody bored & uncomfortable. Meh.
Why is the rum gone!?