Well, shit

There I go dirtying up this beautiful blog template by Zoot. Sorry about that. It's just that I feel up to getting a little funny the past couple of days and then there is today. Today sucks. I would like to have no more todays please.

Guy thinks I need a therapist. There is only one problem with that. I suck at talking. Put me in front of a live person and I will invariably tell them what I think they need to hear in order to think that I am alright. I am strong. I don't need you to listen to me, write on your little notepad, and say "um-hum" a lot. No thanks.

I can handle it.

Right on then. Today, when Guy mentioned that we shouldn't try to get pregnant now because we don't know about health insurance in the job change and his severance insurance only runs through October, I freaking lost it. Freaking. lost. it.

I have been charting temps and even sent in the moola for the v.i.p. membership on Fertility Friend. Who named that site anyway? That is so gay. Anyway, I've got down the days in February that we need to get busy with our bad selves. They are marked and ready. Then, you know what is the coolest? I could pee on a stick on my birthday. My 34th birthday. It was perfect.

One of the first goals Guy told me he had was to get me pregnant before my 34th birthday. At the time, I thought it was an incredibly strange thing to say. I hadn't known the drive of a man to impregnate me before. Then, I thought it was incredibly cool, and I wanted nothing more than for it to happen. Bring it on, sperm shooter (that one is for the Google searcher out there).

Granted, he did it. I was pregnant. But now I'm not. And dammit, I want to be again. I am
so goddamn lonely. I have good friends. I have family. I have students. But I don't have a baby, and I am lonely.

And okay. I'm depressed. I am possibly on a quest to be the most stubborn person alive, so I forge ahead and make sure that I seem okay. Guy has asked me to be okay. The stress level at his job right now is unbelievable. They still haven't handed him a package yet. We want that package. Fifteen years and a whole lot of work - they owe him a package. And if they were humane, they would extend the health insurance for his hopefully pregnant wife. Who was in fact pregnant when they laid him off. Bastards.

I am trying to be okay. For everyone. And because doesn't it feel better to be okay? Can't I just decide to be okay and it happen?

Well, shit.

When Guy told me that we might need to wait to get pregnant again, I felt like I was losing a baby all over again. A baby that didn't even exist yet. He tried to explain to me that getting pregnant wouldn't make me not be sad about Cleatus. I know that.

But won't it help with the lonely? I would like for it to help with that.

First I think I'm going to try yoga. It sounds like a good suggestion, and it doesn't involve talking. I emailed a couple of places tonight to find out about private instruction because most of the classes are offered in packages and have already started. So. don't. want. to. talk.

Guy wants to fix it. He wants to make me not hurt. Take away the pain. I love him for that. But he thinks that if he can't fix it, then I might not love him. I might want to not be with him. We are both insecure. But we are both so in love with each other that we think we ourselves are the lucky one. I am the lucky one, by the way.

He can't fix this. He didn't break it. I have to just hurt, and he has to let it be okay.

God that sucks. If there is a different solution than that, I am so completely open to hearing it.