…and 99% of the time I am thrilled with my own company. But lately? Lately I have been lonely. I have repeatedly proven that I am capable of maintaining loving relationships with people far far away. Hell, maybe I am so good at it because eveb when married more than 50% of the time we were far apart from each other.
So now what.
I am polyamorous. I know in my heart and in my soul that loving more than one person is how I am made. Sadly, while love is infinite–time is not and it is just not possible to maintain deep and loving relationships with more than a few close people.
Every once in a while I feel so lonely I panic a bit and ask a beloved to give up their lives and come and be with me.
Thankfully, no one has yet to take me up on the offer. Because I know by doing that…by having someone give up everything to come and fold themselves into the stupidity of my life is just ridiculous and unfair.
I know this because I gave up everything and everyone I knew to move and be with the man I loved. And I ended up a miserable huddled mass of regret. Because how can one person become everything for another? They can’t; nor should they.
Does this mean I should try to date locally? No. Because the people I love are still the people I love. My dance card is all filled up.
I guess the answer is that I have no answers. I do know that I am alone too much and I’m not overly happy these days. But that could be surgical backlash or a host of other issues.
So, basically….what you just read was a whiny annoying post with little to no intrinsic value. Sorry bout that!
Hugs!
Author Archives: H
Health Crap
The other day after my exam as I perched on the table buttoning my pants (incision is healing very well) my doctor sat on her roly stool and flipped pages of my chart. My cholesterol is high (not shocking) and I have been put on a statin (unsuprising). As we talked about side effects I said I didn’t have any problems in the past but while my paternal side can tolerate them my maternal side has serious trouble with statins. Then we went over some family-specific diabetic stuff….she let the chart fall into her lap and said, “crap, you’re LADA.” I replied, “yep, I know–I win at health!” and threw my arms up with unabashed joy and only a smidge sarcasm.
She was impressed I knew what the hell LADA was, large folks like me have trouble getting doctors to see past the type 2 diagnosis.
Should any of y’all want to know more about Diabetes 1.5 please feel free to read about it ( http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latent_autoimmune_diabetes )
but the short version is I have a slow version of type 1 diabetes. It sucks, but honestly most days it feels like that one scene in one of the austin powers movie where the steam-roller is coming at the guy and he stands there and screams….but it is too slow and he runs out of breath….sucks in and then screams again. It’s (supposed to be) funny because he could just meander away. Alas, I am just sorta stuck waiting for the steamroller. That said? I’m luckier than many cause the slower it goes the longer my ‘honeymoon’ period (seriously, that’s what this is called) lasts.
It’s a little sad, I’ve never been on a honeymoon but I always hoped if i had one it would be WAY more fun than this.
Goodnight y’all.
-H.
Protected: Spotlight on a Friend – Sky
Potential new low?
I woke up particularly early this morning (approximately 04:00), which makes sense since I went to bed somewhere around 19:00 (7pm). Well, as I fussed and tossed and realized Herbert (dog) was off doing his normal crepuscular search for horse poop. This made me sigh loudly and call for a KITTYKITTYKITTY because come on, something needs to snuggle me, dammit. No critters came a’runnin. So, now full of self-rightous indignation I get out of bed and stomp into the kitchen calling KITTYKITTYKITTY and nary a single ungrateful bugger is to be found! At this point I had devolved to muttering something along the lines of “I am the lady who feeds all y’all and I just wanna snuggle why are there no snugglers present. I don’t care which one of y’all it’s gonna be but SOMEONE is gonna snuggle me.” But which more accurately probably sounded more like…”SNUGGLE. me. Food you. Why? Where? Snuuuuugggllle?” So, back into the bedroom I shuffle. I decide to activate the emergency backup snuggle system aka Life (old girl dog). “Pretty pretty princess! Time to wakey wakey! Wanna snuggle?” She replied with a snore and two tail thumps. I grabbed my robe belt and loosely wrapped it around her neck. She opened her bleary eyes and rolled onto her back stretching, thumped her tail twice more and looked at me with a resounding, “are you fucking kidding me?”
And that’s when I realized I may have hit a new low, laughed at myself, grabbed my keyboard and figured if I couldn’t snuggle any of the ungrateful little buggers I might as well wake up and tell y’all about it. Besides, in a few minutes I am fairly certain there will be a very excited and stinky Herbert jumping on the bed explaining all about how he found HORSES! and did you know!? They make delicious snacks which double as COLOGNE!!? Best. Day. Ever. Which makes me wanna laugh and vomit all at the same time–then it’s bath time.
Good morning y’all!
So many things to say….
So many things to say and yet absolutely no ability to make with the words. No, seriously…I am aware I was just off work for 4 weeks yet the house is a bigger mess than ever and my desire to go back to work has been stymied by my seriously swollen ‘meh’ reflex.
Although, my incision has healed nicely so I guess that is something anyway.
Yesterday I was at the doctor for my 4 week checkup and I had a few questions that I couldn’t bring myself to look up on the interwebs. The largest of my questions had to do with 1. What is that horrible stabbing pain? and 2. I have my ovaries, I do not have a uterous, so I know that I will not bleed on a monthly basis (wooooohooooo!) but given that I still have ovaries will I ovulate and/or have other fun cycle-related joy–turns out yes (which I had assumed and was damn sorry to be right about). Turns out the stabbing agony of wonder was directly related to this question–I was, in fact, having trouble ovulating. Sigh.
BUT, I tell you this less-than-interesting-story to be able to tell you the most interesting story I have heard in years as told to me by my doctor. I apparently inspire such stories. 🙂
So, there was a lady who was not born with the bottom half of her vagina. She also didn’t have a uterous. This was just one of those unfortunate genetic mutations which caused this woman to be unable to have vaginal intercourse. So, she had just finished felating her married boyfriend when his wife came in and shot her in the stomach.
Wonder of wonders, 7 months later they found that this woman had sustained an abdominal pregnancy. Both she and the baby survived.
But take a second and think this one through–had that woman been shot 15 minutes later her stomach acids would have destroyed the sperm; 15 minutes earlier and there wouldn’t have been any sperm. And let’s not forget, she didn’t have a uterous–therefore not only conceiving but sustaining an abdominal pregnancy for 7 months before detection; well the chances of this particular conception occuring are incalculable. My doctor explained this story to me because she knew I would be fascinated by it and also as a ‘don’t get shot in the stomach immediately after swallowing ejaculate while ovulating because holy crap it has happened before!’ warning.
I felt the need to share this warning with others.
Important aside: I heard this incident happened in Boston but haven’t searched for it yet so the veracity of the story is not yet proven.
Have a good night everyone! And remember, don’t get shot! (regardless of the presence of eggs and/or spermatazoa.)
Kisses,
-H.
….ouch.
but really, I’m okay.
I’m sitting here in the hospital and my sister is with me talking to my mom….which makes it easier for me not to talk to my mom.
My incision hurts. that’s right, my cut in my belly, surprisingly, hurts. Just got the visit from my doctor to explain why she had to cut through my belly as opposed to the removal of my uterous and cervix through my vagina.
It turns out my vagina clamps the heck closed when I am under anesthetic. That’s right, when I am knocked out nothing is allowed in. Who knew? The doctor said that was a first for her.
So, cut through my belly, removed the uterous and the cervix. They also burned off some endometriosis and removed a cyst from one ovary.
And no, I didn’t know about either one of those two issues either. Le sigh.
I’m not feeling much up to talking as I am suffering through the unfortunate truth of woman doctors are not generous with pain-relievers.
I shit you not, they are giving me advil.
Advil….a whopping 800 mgs twice a day. That is about what I would take for a nasty headache.
A gut stabbing, burning, and a cutting I feel deserves more than an advil.
*sigh*
Love y’all,
Me.
Protected: Chances are….nah.
Whoa….
It is incredibly easy to forget how…..incestuous your hometown can be. No, not incestuous as in brothers and sisters getting REALLY close, but holy crap everyone knows everything about everyone and FML what the hell!?
So, this last few years have been…..rough. No, really. A few high points include divorce, financial ruin, unemployment, cancer, family deaths, beloved pet deaths, depression…..and horrifyingly I could keep going but I won’t. Because the more I dwell the less I live and things are slowly, creepingly, getting better.
I let so few people in anymore. For those of you who only knew me before the great Caribbean migration you might be rather blown away – compared to the annoyingly chipper hopeful pain in the ass I used to be 90% of the time…I’m now more 90% wary and braced for the next horror and the last 10% of the performance-based chipper I have left in me I save for work.
So I’m tired. And not the I’ll take a nap and be all rested up then kind of tired, but godsdamned soul-weary.
But I’m frakking trying! Dammit.
Anyway, there is no real purpose to this rant of nothing, other than me trying to figure out why one single word used to describe me yesterday felt more like a slap to face using a poison ivy embedded glove….initially shocking followed by some itchy festering annoyance. (Yeah, I know….awesome analogy! *grin*) I really think I cracked why it annoyed the shit out of me last night to be referred to as needy (yep, still feels like a cheese grater on the soul-bone to type it) because while I used to consider myself needy (raaaaaasp!), I am so afraid to allow just anyone close to me anymore I just consider myself….broken. So, if I choose to spend time with someone….and let them get close to me? That is a rather big rather scary deal for me. A large part of me is always waiting for the pain. Not the kinky-fun-pain, but the heart wrenching soul damaging kind of pain. I have learned to accept this pain with grace, whether for good or for ill and I just sort of drift away from whoever or whatever caused it.
There are some cultures that, instead of throwing away something broken, they repair it using a precious metal and celebrate its journey through their world. So, being partial to silver I prefer to think of these broken bits of myself as shiny silver examples of ain’t dead yet, still frakking trying here.
Dammit.
Squished Together 