|Posted on May 2, 2011 at 9:49 AM||comments (0)|
Well, so far.
In January, my fiancé and I decided I was going to quit the pill. My doctor suggested we wait three months before trying to conceive, so that my hormones and system can balance out. I started taking vitamins also.
We decided in mid-March to start trying. Sam's a trucker, always on the road, only home on weekends. We wanted to try every opportunity we had, because what were the odds that we'd get pregnant within the first month of trying?
Odds were good I guess, the baby caught and stayed <3
I'm two months in so far and I must say I'm relieved that everything is going so well. My doc said that the way my body reacted to getting off the pill was a good indication about how the first three months of pregnancy were going to be like. Sam freaked out because me off the pill: not pretty.
Yet . . . here I am. No nausea, barely any mood swings. I'm actually happy, content, most of the time. And why wouldn't I be? I carry life!
Then we started procedures for buying a house. Went to the bank, spoke to a realtor. For one week now, I've been house shopping, visiting houses. Oh, how naive I was before this process started. I thought it was going to be easy to find a house. Why not? I saw the pictures of the internet, saw the descriptions. I figured I could close my eyes and go eeny-meeny-miny-mo and presto! We're buying THAT one.
Oh, the shame of it all. The houses are never what the pictures make them out to be. It's disheartning to see the actual houses, sometimes in shambles. I was getting discouraged.
Then, yesterday, I found THE one. Sam wasn't there with me so we'll have to go back for a second visit on Saturday. I can't wait to show him! Unfortunately, the thought of it kept me up half the night because I was trying to figure out how to arrange my furniture. *sigh*
Wish me luck!
|Posted on February 28, 2011 at 11:57 AM||comments (0)|
When I was young, I used to picture myself walking in the streets during a light snow.
I would be wearing a black beret-style hat, with a black and white plaid coat. I would have long dark hair, cascading down my back. Streetlamps would guide me on my journey as I watched the big snowflakes slowly falling from the sky.
In reality? I don't own a plaid coat, hats look horrible on me and I recently chopped my long dark hair until it was shorter than my fiancé's (he's still mourning that, by the way).
But, that's ok. It's a childhood fantasy. And whenever there's a light snow, I go out and walk. I breathe in the cool air. I catch snowflakes and watch them melt in my hand.
I also love to curl up near a real fire, with a hot mug of something, and simply stare at the fire until it feels my eyeballs have burned. Not a romantic image, but you get what I mean. Then, recently, my parents got rid of their wood-burning stove, and I am mourning it. They have a propane stone now. And it doesn't have the same charm as the other one. Much easier to take care of, but....
These past few years, I had lost my excitement and love for Christmas. Don't get me wrong, it's a wonderful time to see family, but . . Where was the excitement? I am way past the age to believe in Santa (although I secretely do) and presents didn't have the same 'ooomph' as before.
But last Christmas and this one, the excitement seems to have come galloping back. I truly realise what a blessing it is to have family and friends to spend Christmas with. People I love and who love me for myself.
Sharing memories and food. Taking pictures and reminiscing. Smiling at the thought some people put into choosing their gifts. Grinning (or tearing up) when I realise how good it feels to give someone a gift they really wanted.
Ah, Christmas is such a magical time of year.
|Posted on February 28, 2011 at 11:56 AM||comments (0)|
Like any kid, my teenage years were a harsh period. I was not at a happy place at the time; I was miserable, actually. Things weren't going too well at home and my best friend, Julie, became the center of my universe. Her and my golden retriever, that is. But the need for Julie was pretty mutual. Things were rather rough at her own home and she needed attention, desperately. We each became the other's life saver.
Gradually, and rather painfully, we grew up. I was forced to move but she stayed on. On friendship remained strong but over the years, it waned. We no longer had the same priorities, no longer needed to use the other as a crutch. We began our life's pursuits without clinging to the other.
Now, we no longer talk. We have nothing to say to one another. It isn't a pleasant feeling to lose the best friend I've ever had but our circumstances are what they are. We grew too much apart. She has a family now, two kids to raise and a house to maintain. I don't. I will, someday soon, but not now.
Today, I went to have a chat with her mother, Lyne. She's like a second mother to me and she's always called me her second daughter. There's a special place in her heart with my name on it. It was bittersweet to be with Lyne, speaking of mundane things. It was nice, though, pleasant. We were able to speak as adults, not only as mother and child.
It brought around the inevitable nostalgia. Thinking of her, being with her, brought around thoughts of Julie, of our life together, of our lost friendship.
But, that's life, isn't it? They say that you meet people for a reason and maybe Julie and I came together when we needed each other the most, when we simply couldn't take another step in life without the other.
Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, we are meant to be together again, friends to the end.
Then again, maybe not.
|Posted on February 28, 2011 at 11:55 AM||comments (0)|
I work nightshift. When I am done at work, I take out my pc chair and my little IKEA table and I open my laptop. I heat my supper and I write and eat. Then write, serve customers and write some more.
One of my regulars came in the other day and he's like, 'You watching movies?'
"Nope, my book.' Proud I was of saying it.
"You write?" Scorn.
"Oh yeah? What do you have published?" Sneer.
Basically, he belittled me. I would like to say that I spit in his face then hauled him out of the store. But I didn't. Why not? Well, I physically can't for one. But seriously, what's the point? Years ago, I wouldn't have been so proud. I used to sort of tuck my head between my shoulders and self consciously say, "Well, maybe one day I plan to write.' Then change the subject really fast. I don't know why. I just did.
So I patiently told dweeb face that I was in the process of getting published. He laughed and said what if you never get published? I shrugged. "I'm still proud of what I've done. Being proud makes me happy and writing makes me happy. Period.
So, I'm a writer. Period. :0)