I attended college in Indiana and was thrilled to leave at the end of my sentence. Waking up to the yeasty ethanol smell was almost more than we could take; mindless worship of the meaty athletes and their Y-chromosome fellows just topped it off for me. I had some lovely Hoosier acquaintances, however; I hope none of them is suffering the reproductive problems we are. Because their govmint is out to get them.
When I was a yoot, I did believe in units. As in, there are only so many units of sour cream and onion chips, good smells, a decent night's sleep. If I don't get my units, someone else will and use them up. Now that I'm all grows up, I don't think that way any more. There are plenty of marriage units to go around. We can all have some, gays and non-gays. How could my boy-girl marriage be diluted by boy-boy and girl-girl marriages? The only dilution I am hoping for is: when enough of these gays have children, they will drown the gay-hating children who are trying to legislate hate. We have too many of those hate units.
In other news, my third yoga for infertiles class is tonight. I love this class. I love it but I'm really struggling with my fear of accidental bodily events. To explain: in college, I signed up for a tae kwon do class one summer. In the middle of the first class, we were doing some kind of a stretch that caused an air intake down there. What happened next? That's right. I now know that queefing during exercise class is far worse than getting your period in high school and walking all the way down the corridor (the really long one that stretches from the P.E. wing to the arts wing) before someone finally tells you about the big red spot on your white pants with the light green stripe that are pegged just perfectly but who cares because now you look like a horror film with your blood.
My yoga buddies are really nice and I don't want to fart in their general direction. Life is traumatic enough for them just now.
And, since the miscarriage I've noticed that my grey hairs are marshalling into a very skunklike heavy stripe right in the middle of my head. The hairs that remain, anyway, since most of them jumped ship the week after that horrible ultrasound.
-Mary
listening to The Killers
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