April 23, 2000

rewind | the suspicion | forward

Although it's not yet medically confirmed, I'm 99.9% sure that I am pregnant again. I'm three weeks late for my period. I should have had it on April 3, 2000. If only I weren't so broke right now that I can't afford an EPT! But, I am pregnant- I just know it.

My husband and I are happy about the prospect of having another child. However, I also feel twinges of sadness and fear. I just had a miscarriage this past July. Words alone fail to fully express the depths of anguish and confusion. Why did that baby die?

Given that my husband is a second generation survivor of Agent Orange Sickness, it is quite likely that the fetus had some serious health problems. Regardless, I can only accept that for whatever reasons, that child was not meant to be.

This time, though... /me smiles.

I went to church for the first time in my life today. I'm not sure why I went, but I did and I think I'm glad. I went to the vancouver unitarian church (and just to clarify, that's not a christian church..), and they were having an easter-y passover-y spring-y service with lot of candles and flowers and things. It's been a long time since I've sung with other people. I didn't realize how much I missed it. I wandered around afterwards. An old old church lady talked with me for 10 minutes about hair dye. (Mine's bright red; she wants her orange for hallowe'en.) I nervously put my address in the visitor's book. I think I might come back next week.

Damn it, The Simpsons was a re-run.. my last bastion of televised enjoyment is starting to slowly, ominously, slip..

Spending more time on Everything2 than is probably healthy, but then again, anyone who reads day logs already knows that feeling. .. Wandered around in the Everything Maze for a while..

I pondered about life today. Actually, I thought about life and its meanings in my dreams last night, to be more precise. It was very, very bizarre. I'm sure glad I'm not a psychoanalyst. =) I woke up with one of those 'strange feelings', you know, when you can remember the last 20 minutes of your dream (or was it really the last 5 seconds? Time is so relative when you're dreaming) .. and it made me think this morning. All in all, it was a very weird feeling. What's really weird about those conteplative dreams is, I always seem to remember people and things in such great detail -- moreso than usual. This one girl from 4th grade popped into my mind during the dream I had totally forgotten about. Strange. She was in and out of the dream, with no real purpose, but it was a suprise to see her there -- since I hadn't thought of her for 12 years. =) Anyway, I can't even remember the main point(s) of the dream. Dont you hate that? You wake up with this total clarity of mind, of life, of purpose, remembering every detail in the dream you just had -- and 30 minutes later, it all drifts away slowly on the clouds, gone forever. Its almost like a temporary view into the portal of life -- you see so much, things become clear - everything has a purpose and a meaning -- and then the memory of it all is slowly taken away from you as you become fully awake and arise.. so slowly that you almost dont even notice until the memory of events in that dream are completely gone.

Anyway, It was an interesting, mind-opening dream last night. I just know it. I just cant remember it now. =)

Easter! HOORAY! Brunch at my sister's house is slated for 2:00, but my roommate gets me high, so I hang out until I am about an hour late to straighten up a bit... but primarily to enjoy and record the rush of ideas that always attends this indulgence. The morning is punctuated with Beethoven's "Chorale" symphony, the Godspell soundtrack, and delicious french roast coffee and chocolate chip cake.
Could you please pass the butter? As it turns out, brunch is not served until 3:30ish, more like an egg-heavy early dinner, with mimosas. There is a theory that you can eat pretty much whatever you like, as long as you don't combine things that don't digest well together (like fruit, which digests in 2 hours, and meat, which takes more like 12 hours). This meal is the epitome of poorly-combined holiday meals. Frittatas, juice, wine, cheese, croissants, ham, broccoli/mushroom quiche, all so tasty. And of course, I have the munchies, how can I resist? It's a holiday, I don't want to. Tommorow is my nephew's birthday, but my sister figured we would gather on Easter so everyone could give him gifts today. <sarcasm>Nice of her to tell me.</sarcasm> Fortunately, I brought a nephew birthday card JUST IN CASE, and my wallet yields an appropriate bill for the occasion. I ignore everything about Elian Gonzalez for the whole day, and dammit, it just feels GOOD.
Cartoon showtime. I am home in time for The Simpsons, but it's disappointing. Then there is a claymation Story-of-the-Resurrection show, but rubber instead of clay... and is it my imagination, or are they taking great liberties with the dialogue? I get a little choked up anyway.

I have to get offline, because he's making secret gestures at me. He's in the next room (his) and has the covers over his head. He never sleeps in that room. He's closed the intervening door and is quietly whimpering or sobbing.

I coax and cuddle him, but his body is always tense and face turned away. As Harold Ryan said, "Ideally, the body of a woman should feel like a hot water bottle filled with Devonshire cream. You feel like a paper bag crammed with curtain rods." Eventually he tells me that he won't be able to move to New York because he doesn't have the money. Why doesn't he have any money? Probably a tossup between not ever looking for a job outside of delivery and all the money he spends on coffee, alcohol, tobacco and music. I tell him jokingly that i think he should drop the alcohol and tobacco and just stick with the music. And he says, it's not that easy. I can't even sleep if i'm sober.

As always there's nothing i can do. I realize yet again that i really do love him, but that he's piling problem on top of problem: he's unhappy because he can't move. He can't move because he doesn't have the money. He doesn't have the money because he spends it on alcohol. He needs to drink to cover the deep badness that's been eating at him for years and years. Somewhere inside his head lives a beautiful thing. I swear it's true. Please believe me, because he won't. All he does is hate the world that's inflicted on him. I don't know what to do. It's been three years (more?).