February Breaks: Part 2

Oh, yes. Hello. Remember me?

Let's do this old school.

1. January broke with a bang, a huge one, and I was for weeks stuck in this headspace where history would lend me the advice of simply writing Shaun off, but I decided to ponder it for a while. Unfortunately for all of you fair readers, of all of the secret-spilling and often callous acts I have commited on this blog, posting his reply to me is simply out of the question. Upon further consideration, I decided this act [non act?] would be my last favor in this lifetime to someone I once called my best friend. Cheers.

2. It's funny how much is merely infered by what people say and what is known true by what they so clearly withhold. Take that however you will.

3. I got my period on New Years Eve. Then I got it again on the third. Then again on the tenth. A frightened call to the clinic, a pelvic exam and vaginal ultrasound later I found out I was the proud new owner of not one, but two endometrial polyps. I had them promptly removed a week later, which sounds much easier than it was or even than I expected it to be. Imagine me unmoving from my couch for four days straight barely making it to my bathroom to pee or to my bed to sleep. Before you freak out, I'm fine now.

4. The thing I never expected from the whole ordeal was this kind of clinical lonliness that I had never experienced before. In all of my appointments, I was one of the only women there alone. I'm not really sure what that even means, but that I even noticed is unnerving. I guess it speaks to some notion that if a doctor is inside your vagina for whatever reason, it speaks in some ways to coupledom--i.e. the nurse practitioner who assured me I would in all likelyhood still be capable of having children. I didn't have the heart to tell her I didn't even want them.

5. That's a lie. It's not that I didn't have the heart to tell her, I didn't have the guts. I feared seeing that strained look of pity on her face that older women get when younger women say things like "I never want to get married" or "I don't want kids". It's this look that says "Oh yes dear, I know" and means "You have no fucking clue little one". I often fear that they are right.

6. I returned to work a day later than planned, on Saturday rather than Friday. Recuperating was much harder than I had anticipated.

7. Oh, I forgot that part where *someone* who knows my social security number transfered a sum of money from my checking account a week or so before I found out I'd have to have surgery. That was fun. I got some of it back, the rest I hope to be replaced as soon as my ID is, which should arrive soon. When I first realized, I was absolutely furious. Then there were those fateful two days between my first pelvic exam and my ultrasound when all I could think about was that thick pause between 'masses' and 'just'* as in: "First things first, we should set up an appointment to see if you have any internal masses...just so we can rule some things out." It's funny the ways that we can deem good from a bad situation--the prospect of dying snapped me out of losing a few hundred dollars pretty quickly.

8. January is typically a quiet and contemplative month for me, but his one was one of record. Apologies to those still patiently waiting for NYCD, it's been a trying month. More trying than most I can remember.

9. I am still, somehow, tragically optimistic. About many things. About Trailer Park Boys the Movie coming to big screens right here in the USA, about going back home and to my hometown all in one big jet-setting swoop next month, about getting a tan. I am optimistic that I might keep my resolutions this year, that I might make a new girlfriend or reconnect with one I miss, that I might have great great sex or sort through those that are deserving of my love and those that are not.

10. There is one more story that I will tell you in a week for reasons that are also TBA. Actually, it's more like six days now. On that note, I would like to take this opportunity to remind all of you that I have a Site Tracker. Isn't this site tracker thing becoming like a broken record? Yes, a bit--but I feel like it's a nice gesture to let someone know I saw thier footsteps when they've tried to take a muddy stroll through my parlor on the sly.

On that note, hey.
Yes, hello. I am saying hi to you.


*I'm sorry, I totally feel like Hunts right now in the respect that I just made an obscenely obscure pop-culture reference in no. 7 that yes, I decided must be asterisked and explained. That my friends, was an homage to Black Sabbath's War Pigs, and may or may not have been used in good taste. In the future, I will try and abstain from joking about the time I thought I was dying, but as I'm sure most of you know, I'm not very well versed in abstaining from things. Just like witches in black masses.


Lisa said...

for fuck's sake! Thank you! I was going to rename your bookmark "Oh, okay." Thank you, chatch! I love you. You are so much more than you can even possibly imagine. Fucking remember that before I have to beat the crap out of you...

Dr. Joey said...

well lookie here who's back from the dead. Glad you're alive and polyp-free. happy belated year of the rat.

Sam said...

Good thing you can still rhyme masses with masses too. I guess we're still fucking twins, huh? Masses and masses and all.
I'd love to see you over the rims of a couple of black ho's when you're in town - if you'll have me that is.
You know where I'm at. Call or whatever.

Sam said...

PS. He finally broke my heart and I remembered who I am. And I fucking miss you. I'm sorry, M. I am so fucking sorry.

lisa said...

Fuck this! You, me, cocktails. PRONTO!