Binge and Purge

It's lovely to sleep until having to pee wakes you. I slept through the night with no weird dreams like I had when doped up following my surgery. (One memorable dream involved me and Weyland moving back to my childhood home with the wonderful closet in which I used to play as a child. You'd open the door to find two metal bars double hung on either side of you rather than in front, and these bars made excellent rungs for pretending to be a gymnast or a trapeeze artist. Anyway, the house, which was built in the 40's, is no longer standing, having been burnt to the ground by my ex-finace who killed my parents and one of my sisters.) I woke up with my CPAP mask still on, which is good because earlier in the week, I'd been pulling it off in the night due to my nose getting stuffy when lying down. Wednesday at work, I began sneezing. I used up what must have been half a box of kleenex. My eyes were watering, my nose was itching. I attribute it to the high fungus count in the air due to recent rain or to the annoying sprinkler malfunction in my boss' office.

Wednesday, a milky white liquid (fire retardant?) started dripping from the sprinkler heads in Pete's office. It smelled horrible. Unfortunately, it occurred around 4:30 p.m., so that by the time Rita Frost, our extraordinarily tanned Accounting Director, came across the hall to find out what the bad smell was, it was already almost time to leave when she asked us why we hadn't left. At that point, what was the point? I had already called Logan to come get me, and short of calling him on his cell and yelling, "drive faster!", I didn't see a reason to quit working. I might as well finish what I had laid out to do until 4:55 p.m.

I started writing the above on Saturday, but got distracted and didn't finish. Here it is Monday, and I'm here at work with not much more accomplished.

The reason this entry is entitled "Binge and Purge" is because that's what I've been doing lately. I binged on honeydew melon Saturday morning. It was wonderful, too juicy, and very sweet. I ate enough that I don't want anymore for a while, and there was still enough left for Brighid and Logan. It was a big honeydew melon. I've been cleaning my room, sweeping under everything, going through boxes, cleaning out nooks and crevices, packing things to store out of the way. I'm being unmerciful in what I purge. If it's broken and I can't fix it with a minimal of effort, I toss it. I have a stack of mending I've decided to get done this week or make into rags by next weekend.

I've been binging on movies lately, renting several at a time, getting caught up on culture, such as it is. I saw the very good "Being Julia" this weekend, along with the so-so "Ladder 49", which Logan liked. We also watched "The Snow Walker", which must have been a direct-to-video production because I don't recall it being publicized. It was a nice movie, but nothing to write home about. Then Brighid and I watched the latest incarnation of "Phantom of the Opera", which Brighid disliked for all the singing -- despite me telling her it was a musical! Yesterday, I caught the last hour or so of "Beyond Borders", which was passing fair. Last night, I watched "Cold Mountain" again, though I don't know why except that I was having trouble falling asleep.

It made me wonder how many times women actually get pregnant the first time they have sex. This seems to be a common plot twist in romance stories, and it did happen to me with Wesley's father and again later with someone with which I had a one-night stand. (Mike, I think his name was -- I met him at a club, he tried hitting on my friend first, so I guess I was better than going home and resorting to self-abuse. I ended up having an abortion because I just couldn't go through giving a child up for adoption again. Having to give up Wesley was just too fresh and painful. I couldn't see anyway that I could keep the child, so made what has turned out to be, at least for me, far less painful mentally than placing a child for adoption was.) Wow, what a tangent. I didn't really mean to go there. But, what the hell. So out of 5 pregnancies, I've gotten pregnant twice on the first time I had sex with the father. 2/5 = 40%. Ack. Maybe it's not such a far-fetched notion, after all.

Speaking of purging, I never had morning sickness until I carried Logan's babies. There are all kinds of theories about why women have morning sickness and what causes it. I like the one that says morning sickness forces women to eat a bland diet so as to avoid toxins in the diet which might affect the developing fetus. I also like the one that claims a woman is more likely to suffer morning sickness when the man who impregnated her is significantly different from her, genetically speaking. Curiously, women who have morning sickness are less likely to suffer miscarriges. I think the two are somehow linked. In other words, if you are a mouth-breathing cousin fucker, you're less likely to have morning sickness and more likely to have a miscarriage or a deformed child. Which is why you shouldn't marry your cousins.

Funny, when I was pregnant with Logan's bairns, I somehow felt more pregnant. I guess having the male parental unit nearby made a difference. And when I would get sick (which I did often with both Brighid and Weyland), Logan would be quite accommodating. So I got looked after, which was a great improvement over the previous pregnancies. I always loved the physical aspects of being pregnant, once the morning sickness was done in about the third trimester. Of course, it was great having my menstrual cycle go on hiatus. And having an excuse for sleeping and resting with one's feet up is great. But the best thing, I think, was how in love Logan acted when I was pregnant. I sometimes regret having my tubes tied after Weyland (the boy with the giant head) was born. I always loved holding my babies, nursing my babies, sleeping with my babies curled up next to me.

In retrospect, though, I suppose it's a good thing I haven't had more children. Aside from all the zero population arguments, having children is just weary work sometimes. Since Brighid and Weyland were born, I've felt myself incapable of just running away when overwhelmed. One has to stay put, take it, and just deal with it. Sometimes it's almost too much to bear, and I wish I could abandon my baggage, including children, by the side of the road, like in "The Joy Luck Club". But then there are the moments when a child, out of the blue, hugs me and says, "I love you, Mommy," and the desire to purge is gone.