Hurry up, we’re dreaming

 

With the exception of 2 years in my early twenties,  I’ve been on some form of hormonal birth control since the age of 17, when I responsibly  drove my tiny, frizzy-haired, boney-child-kneed self  to a Planned parenthood in the midwest town I lived in, but wasn’t from. That experience was both frightening,(as some things just are when done alone) and liberating for some of the exact same reasons it was frightening.

Now, more than ten years off from being that kid, and I’m sick of this shit.

My hormones have always been off, my androgen levels high and my periods are exceptionally irregular. They’ll be  non-existent for years or, conversely, every fucking day for 2 months. My period and the hormonal nightmare hell-scape that comes with it fuck with my perception of self and my life.

I have no intention of having children. Even if I could , even if wanted to and it was a physical possibility,I wouldn’t. That’s rough sometimes, I’ll admit. Sometimes I look at Alvins’ little nose and face and want to make am adorable amalgamation  of the 2 of us, but the other 98% of the time, I know I want a life where all my options are still options, (to quote Aziz Ansari) and I can travel and spend my time being the person I spent my twenties wishing I was, with this amazing human I’ve married. I  know as well,  that I can’t saddle a human being I might create with the burden of mental issues and physical problems that ran like Noble Rot through the vines of my family.  Which is sad really.. I could make some hot, smart weirdos.

I want a Hysterectomy. That’s what I’m getting at. This junk doesn’t work properly, never has, and won’t have children, and I’d like to wear white linen pants.

Carve this shit out with a grape-fruit spoon, if that’s what it’ll take . That’s what it feels like might be an option, if this country keeps disposing of women’s rights to govern their own bodies. Fuck.

I feel like this goes without saying, but I’ll add here, that I’m going to, at times, Write About Sex And Sex Organs and Gender.

This has been your content warning.

 

Covefefe,

Dez

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Melatonin

Recently I started taking melatonin.  I don’t know that melatonin actually succeeds in helping me sleep, but then again I’ve taken actual sleep aids invented by doctors, so I feel like my view towards supplements can be a bit skewed. I take  a handful of supplements that have been proven to work by scientific research. After you’ve taken drugs that actually work you can’t go back to supplements and pretend they’re even remotely similar. They are fucking not.
At any rate, Gabba and melatonin are causing me truly  strange dreams that are boring in their usual-ness.

The dreams don’t tend to lean either  good or bad: They’re generally problem-solving scenarios.Basically, I’m trapped somewhere with some people and I have to help them get out of the situation. It tends to be incredibly stressful,  the Landscapes are strange and there’s an Ex thrown  in there that I can’t actually talk to easily.

Last night’s abstraction was loosely about wine labels. Basically,  I was running a business on what seemed to be another planet, and the same ex that always shows up in stress dreams showed up and was vaguely denunciatory. (maybe? It could be I just always worried he was?)  I’m attempting to defend my product while also not looking defensive and being genuinely happy to see this person, there is a massive fucking earthquake.

Cue the rest of the dream which is trying to get a person I have a difficult time communicating with out of a dangerous situation, while trying to find Alvin.

I’m sure that the specific ex-boyfriend shows  up in my brain because I feel some guilt over that relationship. A lot, really. You don’t always get to go back and say what you’d like, nor should you.

He’s always much, much taller than his reality, like a giant, as people tend to become in memories. As far as the stress dreams are concerned, this is literally been pretty much every dreams was my childhood . just a Labyrinth of anxiety and flop sweat set against a sexy topographical map of “aaaaaggghhh”, and then I wake up.

It’s Tuesday. That means I work in the evening. I woke up at 7:30 this morning without the assistance of Hades Yodeling to the cat-gods,and made Alvin French-toast with bread that I’d actually made, but sadly is too dry for my liking. Now, I’m sitting , trying in vain to stretch my ass-muscles out before going to the gym.

You’re welcome for the visual.

Come get your cat

There’s a special place in hell for people who move into an apartment complex and just decide(like assholes) to let their cats be “indoor/outdoor cats”. BRUH. of course your cat is going to (probably) like that, because it’s a tiny murder-ball. Our little familiars really aren’t that far removed from proud, wild things. So, when let outside, they form weird carnivore-musical cliques. 

Here’s 2 of the jerks. 

Tbh, they’re adorable.

My husband is defensive of our cat and actively roots for the destruction of our local tribe of switchblade-pawed assholes. It’s precious. Also precious, was his confusing “West end” with “West Side ” which I think we can all agree would have  been a very different ‎Leonard Bernstein experience .

I’m writing this on the couch while watching Kathleenlights tutorials and wearing dinosaur pants. It’s almost 11, and I shouldn’t be in dinosaur pants because there’s shit  want to do  out in this beautiful, green world before I leave for work at 4:00.

So, I’ma do them. 

You do you.

PS. 

I know that if you’re not a Trump supporter, you’re pissed right now. I am fucking livid and also worried. Remember to breathe,  remember to fact – check, and live your life as an act of beautiful resistance. I love you. 

Throw your body against the floor of the sky

You will run the world, uncaged and unfettered but still feel as trapped, so long as your heart is still an angry , hungry, young thing.

I would know.

My temples have gone shock-white  from fighting my own child-self, with her broad, stubborn shoulders and skinned knees.

We have sat in the ruins of temples and on mounds of ancient bones, but felt as trapped as canaries in the mouths of temple cats.

 

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