you're stronger than you think

When I think about my life, the things that have happened and the things that haven't happened yet, I almost feel tired. Sometimes I wonder how I will keep up, and if everything is going to turn out alright in the end. I have no way of knowing. I also wonder how transparent I am, and what everybody else can see right through me. I have been a sad person, I've almost always been a sad person. And I don't know how I am ever going to get through that. Medication helped, but now that I'm pregnant I am a complete slave to my emotions. That's fine, it doesn't hurt me, but I worry about my future child. I don't want them to know that their mother is sad. How am I to make certain that that won't ever happen?

I went to the CNE this past weekend and there was a psychic. So I went to her for fun, and shelled out 45 bucks to hear what she had to say. She said the baby will be fine, and will be just like me, but she didn't want to talk about the baby. She wanted to talk about me.
She said that the amount of pain that I feel is enough to give a person a nervous breakdown. She said I've always felt trapped in darkness and she said she worried about how I would be after my pregnancy. she fears post-pardum depression, and she wondered how things got this way for me.

I wonder that all the time. And that is probably the major issue, right there. I am always wondering. I have always lived inside my head and I have always had a hard time making that place comfortable to be in.
I have to try, because I can't be the person that she worries about.

calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean...

Having a super hard time dealing with my own emotions lately.
I don't know what it is. But a few examples:

1) Today I was in a meeting with a supplier that my company works with, and he started rattling off part numbers and codes that I had no idea what to do with, and then when we were finished he asked if I had any questions and I had to hold back my tears. WHY? That's friggin ridiculous! That didn't look professional at all. But I couldn't help it! I just couldn't!
2) Yesterday Mike blew marijuana smoke into my ferret's face (accidentally - but still) and I went completely apeshit, accusing him of doing similar things to my unborn child. I practically made him beg for forgiveness for something that seems pretty stupid to me now.
3) Stupid fucking ex-boyfriends who insist on keeping tabs on everything in your life and feel that they have the right to comment on it have gotten under my skin. To the point where if I remembered his phone number I would probably be screaming at him from my office phone. so.. luckily...
4) My mom made some innocent comment about Mike being scared to tell his family about the pregnancy, to which I completely over-reacted to, getting angry and crying and just being a lump about it for like 45 minutes.

But apparently, this is all normal. And this is just the beginning. So hold on tight because this ride is going to be a long one.

Update: My due date is April 27th and a psychic has given us the inside scoop and claims to know that I'm having a GIRL! yeeee!

just you and me baby

My toxic ex makes me so angry sometimes.

Because I have no escape from him, it seems, and never will, I have had to protect my blog by allowing only invited users to view it. Congratulations on being chosen.

i'm going to complain some more now

So Fran and I hung out for a bit today. We grabbed some lunch at Aout'n About. She had chili nachos. I had 2 meat pies, a salad and a Chicken Tetrazzini to go because I couldn't decide. How pregnant of me. It's awesome hanging out with Fran because she is one of the only people I have no problem being 100% honest with, and who will never judge me because... uhh she's just a really good friend like that, I guess.
So lunch was great and everything but now I just feel like shit. I feel like I might puke, and I can't stay awake! I slept for like 10 hours last night, and then today I've napped for a cumulative 4 hours. I am a sloth.

I am a sloth.



What a weird looking, scary animal.

Anyway, we're going to see The Time Traveler's Wife tonight. Mike doesn't want to go at all, but he indulges my every want which is why someday he will make an excellent husband. The movie will be good. It has to be. The book was phenomenal. I just hope I stay awake throughout the movie, seeing as my undiagnosed narcolepsy appears to be evil and merciless.

fancy grown up job, meet lindsay. she's down there.

So I'm at my super-awesome-new-job-can't-believe-i-landed-this-OMG today and everything is going okay so far. My starting salary is $30,000. I mentioned yesterday I get benefits and a pension plan. They gave me a credit card (they gave me a credit card?!) and I will be getting my very own business cards next week. My new boss loves me.

But there was just one thing about today that kind of bugged me...

My shoes are such an awkward shape and fit that my foot just kind of falls out of it whenever I take a step. It's awful. They're really cute shoes though! Anyway, so at one point I am walking from my office over to the Xerox machine (and my office is kind of in the centre of everybody else's offices, so they can all see me) and my foot falls out of my heel, my feet trip over my shoes and i land on my face on the carpet in the middle of the office.

And so begins a beautiful relationship!

super awesome job change

Soooooooooo

I don't wanna jinx it or anything... but...

Ummm...

Totally got a great job today. Benefits, pension, cushiony little office, totally badass.
I think I'll do great and everything...

But I'm pregnant. How are they going to react when I drop that bombshell a few months from now?

www.fleetbrake.com

TMI Thursday: when you gotta go...

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Is it really Thursday already?
Well, hell. Why don't I tell a story about the magical experience that is pregnancy, and one of the beautiful moments that's taken place.

So I was at work one day last week (before I decided to never show up again) and I was just getting off. Now, because I'm peeing a lot more than I feel I should be, I went for a pee before heading home. Or, not home, but my parents' house. Nothing was coming. I got a couple of drips.
The trip home takes about an hour. There is no reason why I should have to go pee before I get home.
Oh, but that's exactly what happened.

Halfway home, I am overtaken by the need to urinate. I am shaking, I'm trying so hard not to pee myself. All I can think about is how much I have to pee. I have my legs crossed and I am sweating like a goddamn pig, it's really taking a lot of effort to not piss all over the bus. I even start humming to myself. I'm bouncing up and down like a 4-year old. I have to fucking PEE.
I start to worry about how hard it's going to be to even stand up, I have to go so badly.
Why was this even happening to me? I don't deserve this!

Finally, finally I get to my stop. I stand up nervously. So far so good. I have about a 2 minute walk ahead of me until I get to the house. Can't run. Have to tread kind of carefully. I'm doing it, it's happening, I'm actually going to make it. I'm going to make it! Hallelujah! I put my key in the door, and I'm in the house. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY!
I get to the washroom, and I see the toilet, and while I am unbuttoning my pants I start to pee a little bit (I think it was the anticipation and the sight of the toilet) and I tried to squeeze it back in but I couldn't! I peed all over myself. I finally got my pants off about halfway through the stream but I couldn't stop. It was all over the floor. I got maybe a capful of pee in the toilet. The rest was everywhere but.

When I said pregnancy was magical, I meant it.

roddy

I've been having a hard time writing lately. You must have noticed. I think this is because I've let anxiety monopolize all of my thoughts.
I think I need to lighten up a titch.

I'll tell a fun little story about my brother, Roddy.

Roddy is a wonderful guy. Anyone can see that. However, he isn't terribly perceptive, and he does make a lot of poor decisions. One of these decisions has resulted in his now living in Britich Columbia. I'm actually kind of jealous, because it's unbelievably pretty out there. But I am stuck in Hamilton. But hey, at least I'm up before noon today.

This one time, years ago, Roddy was going through a weird little wizardry phase. Don't ask me. But he had decided to make home made candles! Now he made the hot wax in mom's pots, I believe. Which in itself was probably ill-advised. And he poured the wax into boxes, which would shape the candle. But the bottom corners of the boxes were not sealed completely, as they often aren't when it comes to cardboard boxes. So the wax started leaking out the bottom and getting everywhere. Roddy, in a panic, puts the candles in the kitchen sink to leak everywhere. Do you know what happens to wax when it goes down a drain? I'm not sure exactly what happens butI do know wax hardens and would probably result in having to replace pipes under the sink. Somebody started yelling this at Roddy and he prompty removed the "candles" from the sink and dashed to the trash cran, spilling wax all along the way. The kitchen was an effing disaster after this. I can't remember what happened with the sink. It might have been fine, but still. I think it's a funny story, and it very much illustrates my point about Roddy. He's a wizard.

Oh! Another one! This one is way better.
One time, years and years ago, Roddy was babysitting me while our parents were out someplace (and I don't know where my other brother was). Anyway, did I mention that Roddy is 6 years older than me? He is. So Roddy had been doing a lot of research online, this is when everyone first started getting the internet at home. Roddy had learned how to make home-made rockets online. So he suggested we send one to the moon! I was all about this, because I was young enough to actually believe my rocket would make it to the moon. So I suggest we write a little note to the aliens (I had a weird, weird obsession with aliens, more about that some other time). So that's exactly what we did. We made a home made rocket and we slipped a note to the aliens inside of it. And we went to send it.
But we couldn't find a lighter anywhere!
We searched and searched, but to no avail. No lighter any place. Now, Roddy used to light his cigarettes off the toaster when there were no lighters around. So this is what he had in mind for lighting the rocket. So off to the kitchen we go, and we stick the wick in the toaster and press the button, and after a second the rocket starts sizzling, ready for take off. The wick was very small so the rocket totally went off in the livingroom, bouncing off all the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the curtains. And there were black streaks all over the place when the rocket finall fizzled and died. We cleaned up a lot of them but some of them stayed until mom and dad painted the livingroom again.
We lit another rocket and we did make it outside, and our rocket to the aliens went about 30 feet before falling to the ground. The aliens never did read what I had to say.

So many fun memories with Roddy. He really was a dream brother when I was a kid. He actually enjoyed hanging out with me and indulged my childish fantasies, probably because they were his childish fantasies as well. And there are a lot of similarities between us, even though sometimes I deny that there is. We are both a little vindictive, but we both mean well, and we're both artistic and we are very susceptible to heartbreak. Of course, I would never make candles in the kitchen sink or light a rocket off of a toaster. Those are Roddy-specific qualities.

We were talking the other day, he calls from time to time. And he was off to the beer store with ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS worth of empties. Like, empty bottles of beer. How many bottles would that be?! That's like a THOUSAND!
That's my brother :) He's adorable.

'emotional eating'

I am a very typical prgnant chick. Already. At least, this is what google has been telling me. I'm a stereotype.

FOOD. I am just so in love with all things edible lately. In fact, if I haven't eaten in 5 hours or so, my stomach is in agonizing pain, and I have to eat. So I can't avoid being a fatass even if I give it my all. I just have to accept my fate. It's okay, it's okay, as long as I can have my body back when this is over. Please.

Some of the foods I have been coveting incude lemon sorbet, lemon loaf cake, lemon merangue pie, lemon anything actually, grilled cheese sandwiches, dunkaroos (remember dunkaroos?), pickles (toild you I was a stereotype), and meat ball subs. Oh, and junior chickens from mcdonalds. That's probably the craving I am most ashamed of. I've had a lot of those.

And then there's the whole sleeping for 12 hours every night thing. And the crying all the time. I cry when I see that Dawn commercial with all the ducks covered in oil, and they clean them with toothbrushes and dishsoap? That makes me cry everytime.

So, some news, on the advice of a friend I have decided to maybe start doing some freelance spot writing for radio stations. Until I find something permanent. Maybe even after I find something permanent. I mean, why not? Why can't we do things like that? Someone has to.

job search: day 1

It is absolutely sweltering outside.

It's another one of those days. It's noon and I haven't showered. But I have been up and about since 7 am, faxing and e-mailing my CV all over the place. Of course, I'm not expecting much, but it is a start. I just have to go out and search on foot as soon as it cools down a bit.
When job searching, have you ever found yourself applying for jobs that you know you don't want, just because you know you have to find employment soon? I hate that. I think I just applied for a marketing job a few minutes ago.

I had a marketing job once. I had to stand outside of petro canada gas stations (all day long, even in the rain) and try to convince people to sign up for credit cards that they didn't want or need. When the day was over, a guy named sacha came and picked us all up and took us back to our city. It sucked. It really, really sucked. That, and Tim Hortons, were the worst jobs anybody could ever have.

How does anybody find a job that isn't in a restaurant?!

take this job and shove it up your ass.

I don't know if it's the hormones, or if it's my pride, but I am not going to work today. Or ever again. At least, not the honest lawyer.
You see, I worked a 10-hour shift last night and I was only supposed to work a 4 and a half. It wasn't so busy that they needed me; in fact, everyone could see I had no use being there. I wasn't busy, I wasn't making any money.
I told them that if I didn't catch a bus by 12:30 I would have to spend 30 dollars on a cab to get back to my parents' house, and that if I had to do that I would be fucking pissed. They didn't care, they didn't cut me. I told them that my parents had dogs who hadn't been out for a pee since 3 in the afternoon. Nothing.
So I tell myself that if I don't catch that bus to my parents house, and have to spend 30 bucks on a fucking cab, I'm quitting. On principle. Because it's just not fucking cool, especially when there is no need to have me there. They were just being fucking assholes. So I proceed to mope around, not doing anything. My boss takes me into his office and says that because I had been dragging my ass around, I would be closing the resataurant (working until 3am) and I am fucking pissed. I'm never coming back.
So for 3 hours I walk around with tears in my eyes, trying to work but honestly there was nothing to fucking do so mostly I sat in the laundry room with the door locked. Crying.
You know what? You're not my babysitter, Adam. You don't get to be a fucking asshole to me just to teach me a lesson about how to do my job. Fuck you. Seriously, FUCK YOU.
I had to quit anyway, eventually, because no pregnant girl has any business working in a bar. And I didn't want anyone seeing my belly. It just sucks that I didn't have anything else lined up yet. Oh well. That's life.
I feel pretty good about not having to go to work today, and fucking them over. Fucking fascist shithole...

i didn't write this one because i thought anybody would be interested in it, i'll tell ya that much

I think if there is one big mistake, or colossal regret, that any woman can have (and is almost guarunteed to have if she's not too careful), it is that she will let opportunities pass her by, and become a mindless spectator in her own life, dying without ever having discovered who she really is meant to be.

Maybe that sounds like the opening lines of a Bette Midler film, but I don't give a shit; It's the truth!
We owe it to ourselves, and to our unborn children, to make the most of our lives. Mind you, I am typing this from my parents' house in my pajamas in the middle of the afternoon a couple of hours before I head off to a job that I can't stand, but every journey begins with a single step, no?
I feel like I would be failing my little embryo if I refuse take the reins before he or she arrives.

Thus, I will make small but meaningful changes in my life, working up bit by bit.

For starters, I think it's about time that I take a volunteer position. I have to think about what exactly I should devote my valuable time to (unpaid, no less). But surely there is something that sparks an interest in me. I will get back to you on that. Don't expect miracles, I'm talking a few hours a week, at best. Being charitable is not in my nature, but I want to set a good example for my baby while it grows inside me, so it doesn't grow up to become a shit.

Secondly, I am going to the art store and I am going to start painting again. I'm going to get this done this week. I have already picked up a giant canvas, I just need some paints now. Lots of paints.

I once knew a girl who stole a spoon from every restaurant she ate at, and wrote the name of the restaurant on the handle and saved them all in a big treasure chest. Dozens, if not hundreds, of teaspoons. That's a little weird, but it was her thing. It was part of who she was, and I thought it was charming. I think I need to tear a page out of Paige's book on that one.

Also, it couldn't hurt to get up a little earlier from now on, and have a shower before dinnertime. That's a tall order, but I need to try.

I'm going to choke down some wheatgrass and have a shower, and shave my legs because it's been a while and they're looking gross.

can you keep a secret?

So I had a dream about you last night. The first dream I have ever had of you, which I found surprising.

We were in high school together (in reality we were never actually in high school together) and we were in love (that part turned out to be true) but it was a secret (also true). We wanted everyone to know, so we spray painted our confession on a big wall just outside of the gym. We painted cartoons of ourselves holding hands and stuff. We went to class, which was right beside the wall we defaced, and we grew terrified of a teacher walking by and seeing our mess, which we knew was going to happen sooner or later.
When that finally happened, our teacher pulled me aside and gave me huge shit for what we had done. You were in the washroom at the time. I cried and cried and denied that I did it, and I blamed it on you. You took all the flack, and we never spoke to each other again.

That dream is dangerously close to what really happened!

I'm sorry.

on a more serious note..

do you ever get in thoise moods? do you ever just slumpright down into yourself and not want to speak? do you ever wish they made a drug that stopped you from thinking available on prescription? i get in these moods sometimes, like right now, where i feel like i don't even know me anymore. i feel like i don't belong in the world with all these people who know what they're doing, and never do anything wrong to anyone, and are happy. and i mean, really, i'm just a very sneaky, immature fraud who pops happy pills and watches too much television because it sort of drowns out her own thoughts.

TMI Thursday: *chuckle chuckle chuckle RUN*

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Mom: You don't want to read this one, trust me.

It's Thursday again. And that means I have to wrack my brain trying to think of a story for you guys that you'd probably rather me not share. But I will anyway. And this week I think I will tell the tale of a boy named Paul, and this one time when I almost had a one night stand with him.

I was in University, and as a 19 year-old girl in University often does, I went through a period when I was an absolute trollup. I was screwing everything. The phase didn't last, I assure you, but this particular evening took place during said slutty period. I was dating this guy named Symon who was a total cokehead loser who ended up hitting me later on down the road (so that excuses the fact that in this story I totally cheat on him with his cute artist friend, Paul). Anyway, I hadn't heard from Symon in a couple of days and I was super pissed off because he cheated on me the last time I couldn't find the fucker. Sidenote: this was a very unhealthy and tumultuous 6 month affair. So I called Symon's only friend in the world, Paul. Symon was homeless and when he got caught living in the University Student Centre he often crashed at Paul's place. (I know what you're thinking - and yes, I do have excellent taste in men). Paul was a good artist, and I am and was also an artist, so he invited me over to check out some of his work. Paul was also very very handsome. And he was into psychadelics, which I hadn't yet tried, so he was automatically super cool and with it. I go to Paul's and he has The Monster Squad! That awesome movie about the kids who foil Dracula's plan to steal the amulet and take over the world? And the adorable little girl and Frankenstein become, like, best friends? Yeah! I hadn't seen it in like 15 years so when I saw it on his coffee table I was all like PUT THIS ON NOW! And we watched it on a sleeping bag in his student house attic. Classy.

One thing led to another, as it often did when I was a promiscuous little whore and the next thing I knew we were making out like crazy. Paul was a terrible kisser but he was such an interesting person and he was so fucking gorgeous that I had to forgive him and just hope that he would learn to follow my lead. He didn't, but whatever. Anyway, yadda yadda yadda, he may have gone down on me or something, I don't know, and so I reach for the button on his jeans.

Now, all women know that this really is the moment of truth. I have certainly never heard the words "size doesn't matter" come out of anyone's mouth who wasn't a) a man, b) a man with a tiny pecker or c) a liar woman in love with a man with a tiny pecker. For the most part, we know better. It matters. So when you're about to check out the penis for the first time with someone new, you're hopeful that it's going to be decent. Am I right? I think I'm right... anyway to me it's kind of like unwrapping a Christmas gift. It's either going to be a pair of socks or a nice big penis. I mean, an X-box. Whatever.

Paul's little pee-pee was so tiny, so utterly tiny, that I had to stop. I had to. I recoiled against my will, as if his penis physically repelled me with its anti-sexy and I turned super red and wore this stupid looking grin. A grin that says "I'm sorry..." like the grin you might accidentally wear when you accidentally feed a vegetarian a real burger instead of the veggie...
I could make out with him all night, even though he couldn't kiss worth a damn. Could I even stomach the idea of giving this guy a handjob? No. I couldn't. His penis was probably as thick as a roll of dimes and it was shorter than my index finger. I remember my fist being of more length. It wasn't even funny small, it was just really, really sad.
The next few moments are a blur, but I remember getting up quickly, making up some stupid excuse to leave and running out of his house, and avoiding him at all costs for as long as I went to that school, which thankfully, wasn't super long.

I want more TMI penis stories. Just puttin' that out there.

fucking douche...

This guy is a fucking loser.
I don't know why I have the desire to hate on Jon Gosselin right now, but the desire is overwhelming me! He's a fucking douche! I watched a couple episodes of this stupid television show about a rabid bitch and a total douchebag and their 8 spoiled brats. (Sidenote: my worst nightmare, officially, is that I will give birth to a kid that is anything like their daughter Mady. That little girl is a straight up asshole*.) I only started watching after I heard Jon say something like "I don't hate Kate. But... I don't.... you know" like a fucking jerk. Like a fucking jerk who forgets that one day his kids are going to grow up and watch all of these episodes. And then the camera is on Kate who has tears in her eyes and talks about how she doesn't want the divorce and she doesn't want to be alone. And you know what? I'm totally on team Kate and anybody who isn't can just fuck right off, I want nothing to do with you. (My passion about this is surprising, even to me).
Jon's divorce ended and then within days he started dating this 22 year old smoker and all around nasty daughter of Kate's tummy tuck surgeon (ouch). The age difference there is 10 years. If I were Kate I would probably shoot this little bitch in the face. And now there are rumours that he plans on marrying this dirtbag. It's a sin. Especially since he couldn't manage to make one marriage work (and keep his dick in his pants). I hate this asshole and I hate his Ed Hardy shirts. YOU HAVE A HUGE BALDSPOT ON YOUR HEAD AND 8 FUCKING KIDS! STOP TRYING TO DRESS LIKE A 20 YEAR OLD!

Okay, you may argue that Kate is a fucking bitch who drove Jon to cheating and living under her was probably like living under Nazi rule. Fine. Argue that all you want. You know what? This stupid fuck knew who he was marrying. He shouldn't have been surprised, and he shouldn't be running around telling everybody that she's a tyrannical bitch and he just snapped one day. You know what? I feel sorry for Kate because she never did a 180 in the public eye and became a completely different person. You did, you son of a bitch! She obviously was under the impression that she was marrying a grown-up who wanted the same things she wanted. But no. No. Because all along you just wanted a 22 year old smoker and a bunch of stupid Ed Hardy t-shirts. I hope you're happy, you fucking jerk.

Okay, rant = over.

Somebody should cancel this show. It's depressing and it makes me angry, and the jig is up, quite frankly. A happy family, this is not.

*Perhaps it is in bad taste to call 7 year old girls who I have never met assholes. And perhaps there are worse things that my unborn child could resemble. But I am feeling extremely emotional right now and that's just how I feel. Whatever. I don't feel bad.

another post in which i complain about nothing and everything all at once.

So I am finally off my ass today.

I know. It's about time. And I woke up and I promised myself I would write a goddamned post that had some sort of worth. Lately I have been writing garbage. You don't have to lie to me and say otherwise, I know the truth. And my feelings aren't hurt.

Last night I went to the emergency room because for the last week or so I have had no energy whatsoever. My muscles burn as if they've been over-exerted, even when I am doing nothing at all. I have to catch my breath at the top of stairwells, I don't know how I am going to make it through a day at work. It's been a real pain in the ass. So I called the tele-health lady (I don't know if my American readers will know anything about that, maybe you do, who knows. Basically it's a phone line that you call to speak to a nurse who advises you on your health concerns) and she told me to go to the emergency room. So now I'm petrified because I'm pregnant and I really don't want anything bad to happen to the little cluster of cells in my uterus, regardless of how new or accidental that cluster may be. I'm attached to that cluster now, dammit!

Anyway, it was the first time I told a stranger I was pregnant (several strangers, actually). It sounded so weird coming out of my mouth. I felt like a fraud. I don't know why. I felt like I was making it up or something. (I'm not making it up).
So anyway I wait around for 2 hours to see a doctor who looks at me like I'm the fiftieth pregnant broad to waste his time that day with ridiculously meaningless concerns. I pretty much figured that was what would happen and I was glad for it, don't get me wrong... but I would have preferred if the guy did something to imrpove this fucked up muscle weakness thing. It's perfectly normal, says the doctor. Great. Fine. I'm only a few weeks into this shit and it is already sending me to the emergency room with perfectly normal symptoms that I have confused with a huge calamity. It just figures. All of the books and resources say that you will feel fatigued during your first trimester. FATIGUED?! I CAN'T WALK 5 FEET WITHOUT HAVING TO SIT DOWN!

Ugh. Anyway, today should be interesting. I am going back to the Molson Amphitheatre to bartend the Tool concert. I hate the band, but I love bartending the concerts. I would do it for free. It's just a fun bonus to make shitloads of cash for watching a concert and spending a day in the sunshine. I think it will make me feel better, since I have spent the last couple of days watching TV in a dark livingroom and avoiding society, like a fat, ugly basement troll. Suuuure, I have zero energy and my muscles ache like hell, and maybe I am making a huge mistake by going. I don't know. But fuck it. It's such a beautiful day and how many more concerts am I going to be able to go to after this? Don't answer that...

I woke up at noon today!
And it feels great!

I am going to get nothing productive done, I am going to eat unhealthy garbage, I am not going to shower and I am going to watch movies on MPIX alllll day long.
This is going to be badass.

i think i lost the receipt...

Alright, I don't know exactly what I'm doing with this whole baby business. I wasn't planning on this happening, but it is. I don't really know if I'm prepared for it (I'm not prepared actually), but I do know the things I can do in my life and the things I can't do, in order to live with myself. So here we are.

Now that is not to say that this is a picnic, because I will tell you right now, this is no picnic. Nobody at work knows about this yet, and they are all wondering why I haven't been going out to get shit faced with them lately. They are also wondering what's with the mood swings and the incessant hunger. Oh, and they are wondering why I feel nauseous all the time and why the smell of poultry sends me racing to the washroom to vomit. I am really struggling with the fact that I am going to be someone's mother. Really struggling. That is some heavy shit right there, being responsible for a human life. Making sure you don't fuck it right up. Sigh.

I worry about the fact that this is probably going to turn me into a fat cow. I might be a fat cow forever. My youth and my body and my freedom: all gone forever! But at the same time, I think it might be a little bit okay with me once I meet the little person I am making all these changes for. I'm sure he or she is worth it. I am pretty excited in that sense, because I know my body is manufacturing a wonderful human being right now. One who will enrich the lives of so many people, and who will do great things. And hopefully let me live with them when I'm old and crotchety instead of sending me to the home.

Sometimes I'm terrified and sometimes I'm doe-eyed and cool as a cucumber, certain I can handle anything. But the fact is, I'm scared as hell. I don't know if what I am doing is right and I don't know what the future holds. But I do know I am taking responsibility for this baby and I am going to have to try my best. That's all there is to it.