Dumpster Blog

So there's this brain voice that keeps badgering me about starting a blog and only getting two entries into it before apparently finding it too difficult to keep up with.  Because of course I am so incredibly busy that I couldn't possibly spare 30 minutes to update each week, and clear my headspace a little bit.  That is not true.  I could, in fact, not play The Sims on my computer for 2.5 hours every Saturday and write in my blog instead, but I have the willpower of a small child when it comes to having the opportunity for instant gratification.  Also, when you put in over 17 hours of overtime each paycheck for months on end, you kind of tend to want some "me-time" when you finally get a day off, and you don't really feel the need to deny yourself of the one activity that you just really want to do at that moment.  I don't feel too badly about that.  I try not to, anyway.  Nonetheless, I'd be bending the truth if I were to say that it hasn't been making me feel a little bit of esophagus-squeezing panic every time I think of this poor little blog out there in the cold, dark cyber world, alone and shivering with only two entries to cloak itself in each night.  It's the same feeling I get when I read about puppies or babies being found in a dumpster. Except this time I'm responsible for it.  My dumpster blog.  But I am here now.  I am here minus the short attempt at poetry that I usually (two whole times) preface my blog entries with.  I feel like maybe that was part of the reason I kept putting off writing an entry.  The poetic creativity just hasn't been gracing me with its presence lately, and it's been making me feel like if I posted an entry without it, I'd be letting it win.  But I just don't care anymore.  Poetry fail. 

Over the past week or two, I've felt a slowly growing vine of discontentment winding its way up to my brain.  I don't know why - I have absolutely nothing to complain about.  Sure I could find some run-of-the-mill standard gripes that everyone  experiences, but why?  Things are actually going quite well for me at the moment.  I've gotten an amazing raise at work, a new car, no disputes on the home front in as long as I can remember, and the weather is getting warm.  I have a few concerts and trips out of state to look forward to in the upcoming months, and I've been getting into much better shape physically with my trusty treadmill; I have even considered trying out a 3K somewhere down the road, now that my endurance is building.  Me - running?  WTF?  I would have never EVER thought that would happen.  But despite all of this, I can't seem to be really enthused about anything.  I feel stuck somehow.  In a way, I feel this sense of claustrophobia.  Sometimes I get like that - it's not the first time in the history of my life that this type of thing has come on for no reason.  I just wish I could prevent it somehow.  If things go well for too long it's like my brain has a sensor connected to an automatic switch.  "PROLONGED CONTENTMENT DETECTED! TEN SECONDS TO SELF DESTRUCTION!"  And then even if there is no outside trigger, my brain starts getting all sensitive about things and making me feel like I want and deserve something more than what I have.  I don't like that.  I'm not an ungrateful person.  But I guess I'm also not exactly what you might call entirely stable. So I have to constantly try to find ways to combat my patterns.

Possibly contributing to all of this mental nonsense is the ever present fact that I am still not pregnant, but it feels like almost every woman within a three mile span of me is.  There are days I have a harder time dealing with this than others.  Most recently, I have been allowing it less  time and attention in my head, and so I haven't been quite as down about it.  However, it's still there, and though I have 3 more months until I have medical permission to go see a fertility doctor, my conclusion is that even by that time I will find some reason to put it off, because I have the hardest time accepting that something may be wrong with me or Ryan.  I realize that even if something is wrong it could very likely be something easily remedied, and it doesn't have to be something terrible that renders us unable to ever have our own children.  However, I'm scared out of my mind to find out either way.  I'm 27 years old, and I get very bitter about having such a challenging time conceiving my very first child.  I'd trade a lot of things to have it easy in this department.  It doesn't even help much to think of it as a message from the Universe - "Dear Jane, you can't even keep your cats off the dining room table, so you can imagine the confidence I have that you will keep a two year old out of the cleaning chemicals".  That may be true, but I don't think it's very fair of you to so poorly judge my prioritizing abilities, Universe.

(Sometimes I have imaginary conversations between myself and the Universe.)

When it comes down to it, I just want a little bit of time to rejuvenate myself.  I feel like a kitchen sponge that you've used way too long for way too many things, but you just keep wringing it out and cleaning out your casserole dish just one more time.  It still accomplishes what it's supposed to accomplish, but it's a little too worn to leave out in the open in good conscience when company comes over, for fear of being judged.  I guess I feel like if I just had a significant amount of time to not have to do anything at all, I would start feeling more like a new kitchen sponge again.  Hell, maybe I'd even feel like a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.  Because you can't get more badass than that when you're a sponge, my friend.  So I'm just going to hang tight until the last week of June, when I get my first week off of work since the beginning of October 2010.  And at that point, I'm going to relish my time off and soak up every moment of it like aforementioned sponge (that's the last sponge reference, I promise) until I can't soak up anymore.  Hopefully after that, I'll be much better suited for the daily grind.  If not, I'll just have to have a nice long imaginary conversation with the Universe.  Don't worry, I'll type up the transcript.