The Bitch is Baaaaack...

Lordy, lordy, lordy. I see it has been 12 and a half weeks since my last post. What can I say?

I suppose I can give various explanations. I've been quite seriously mulling on why the prolonged silence, both in the written and verbal forms. Here's a few plausible reasons:

1. No more for me thanks, I'm full of myself.

As charming as I find myself, even I get sick of me sometimes. This is not a crisis of self-confidence; more like a peculiar state of eye-rolling at oneself. I wasn't particularly conscious of it and it certainly didn't upset me when it did occur to me now and then. It was like, yeah, shut up already for a while. Everyone needs a break from each other once in a while, as in each other part of oneself. Anyway, I'm glad to report both others have firmly re-committed, and after a small ceremony, are happily wedded once again.

2. The Transformer turned out to be a Decepticon

In my last post, I mentioned I'd got a state of the art intrauterine device (code name: Mirena). I'd thought the insertion process was the worst of it, and was looking forward to long, consequence-free soaks in...let me check the last post...hmmm...yes, I believe I coined the word 'jizzcuzzis'. (Little wonder I needed a little break from myself).

Things would turn out not to be so peachy nor so creamy (eeeww!), however. The "negligible" dose of progesterone slow-released into my uterus would be localized, I'd been assured, and soon I wouldn't even notice it. Really? Really? Well, no.

Exhibit a: interminable spotting. Everyday, a tablespoon or two drizzle. My pantiliner budget trebled. My bush grew yeti-wild as I waited for a break to get waxed. I grew nostalgic for (receiving) oral. My period went from frequent and decided statements to prolonged questions ("Is it tiiiiiiime yet...maaaaybe...?).

Exhibit b: occasional penile stabbings. My partner confessed to feeling something sharp once in a while when things shifted, it was turning him off a little...but it wasn't that bad, he reassured me. Well good. I certainly want my vagina to be a not entirely unpleasant experience for my sexual partner.

Exhibit c: general mooniness. It's not like the adult specimen I've become to be withdrawn, undecided and emotionally cautious. While admittedly it was helpful for several weeks while I/my fair handyman fixed up the house (mild depression can focus you on household tasks, I've found), I did not like it one little bit. Nuh-uh. Not one little bit. I lost my drive for exercise, for work, for socializing.

Also, instead of becoming accustomed to the idea, I was getting increasingly creeped out by the little Transformer docked inside of me. Just say it came within a certain radius of four other IUDs? Would they all leap explosively from their lodgings to form one giant IUD? Oh, the carnage! The inhumanity!

I was told: it may take you 2-3 months to adjust to it. One acquaintance recounted that it took her 6 months. I think she meant that it took her 6 months to forget how she used to be before the Thing was implanted. I do not think it unfair comment to say I should not have to get used to anything that negatively affects my personality, when I have the means to rid myself of it.

Thus, after 2 semi-periods in 3 weeks (once on my spa/girlfriend birthday, thanks!) and a particularly petulant time, I made an appointment with my doc to exorcise this particular demon. Luckily, it came out meekly. I instantly felt better. And had another period to celebrate 3 days later, this time for my sister's getaway birthday. Well, fuck you too, Mirena.

Unfortunately, you are not allowed to keep Mirena after removal. I would have liked to donate her to an impoverished woman in a poor country, with 5 kids already, who just needs a break. Or use it as a stocking stuffer! But apparently it takes just one bad apple peddling used/knock-off Mirenas on craigslist to ruin it for everyone else, so the thing was confiscated upon ejection. Good riddance.

The positive news, my doctor tells me, is that I'm likely too old to get knocked up without the help of fertility drugs, a turkey baster and some frozen embryos. She didn't put it exactly like that, but I got the sub-text, eh.

Actually, I think the evil Mirena was the reason for my posting absence, and no further explanation is necessary. I'm back in all my mildly bitchy, skeptical, ball-kickinlickin glory. Here are some ticker-tape updates since last we met:

-Man good, wonderful in fact. I plan on proposing when he's 40, so he's got 4 and a half years to find a really, really good hiding spot.

-Child good, adorable in fact. Maybe it's just because she's got so much of her dear da' in her, but I like her very much indeed. She's taken a shine to me too, probably because I'm the closest she's got to a fun uncle ( "funcle") figure in her life. I tutor her in all the most important aspects of her education (accurate animal noises, making a pop! with your index finger inside your cheek, loud nose-blowing, etc.)

-House sale imminent, almost. Many showings in a short time, and general good vibes about the thing. May have found ideal Next Spot as well, which I'd be able to rent for a while first. Fingers crossed.

-Health still shit. Tonsils may have to come out; got another cold attended by nausea. I leaned over my bathroom sink the other morning and casually puked up my double americano. And no, I'm not preggo (or, according to the package of the home pregnancy test, I can be 99% sure). Apparently it's par for the course with this particular bug.

Oh well. I'm a believer that when most parts of life are going particularly well, at least one aspect goes to shit for the sake of balance. This year my health has been exceptionally poor, but work and friendships and love have been simply exceptional. However, I may have to offer up one of the household pets in sacrifice to restore equilibrium.

Other than becoming a professional invalid (O, for I am consumed with consumption, alas!), I'm quite happy. It's reassuring that an old cynic like me can fall in love, albeit sensibly and with conditions. I'm happy to go slow. I like my space just so, and am not eager to invite someone to join it on a full-time basis. Neither am I inflexible enough to not entertain the notion occuring within the next year or so, but first things first. Relative to my probable life span, we're at the second handshake stage of our acquaintance.

Anyway, I'm almost done singing along to Dinah Washington in my raspy, infected-throat voice. I shall write shortly. Nice to be back.

gRETCHie