tonight the bottle let me down

The pregnancy. Seriously. I’m over it.

Yesterday was Hormones-from-Hell day. Weepy all day, picked a fight with my mom on the phone, then had a giant bedtime fight with GB. I’m fairly sure I haven’t cried myself to sleep since I was 14.

I’m just over it. The fucking hormones, the not being on my antidepressant, the unstable emotions that GB does not understand and has very little sympathy for. The insomnia, the bad dreams, the constant worry. It fucking sucks.

I’m thinking that maybe I’ll feel better when I start feeling the baby move (which, really, should be pretty soon). Because right now, none of it feels especially real, and I feel stuck in this physical discomfort and emotional misery for no good reason at all.

(On the brighter side, I woke up at 6:45 this morning–after waking every 2 hours, of course–and started reorganizing this chapter outline. So at least I’m acting like I’m productive. Though, I have been including footnotes in my word count–some of them are pretty lengthy. But really, did we decide that counts? Because what about the footnotes that are just citations (yes, there are one or two of those)? I don’t want to *not* count the long footnotes, but I also don’t want to make it look like I’ve done more writing than I have…)

Whatever. I know–another whine. This one may self-destruct, depending on how whiny I can stand to be.


You know how I bitch all the freaking time about how we don’t have any friends here? And how I’m all lonely ‘n shit?

Well, there’s this person we know from the East Coast. We weren’t really good friends with her there; her then-boyfriend was part of the-boys-who-go-way-back-together (which also included Jason, Bad Idea, and the Squirrel). We saw them a lot at parties, invited them to parties, drank at their house, things like that. But I wouldn’t have said we were exactly “friends.” Anyway. She lives very near here, in Big-City-Over-There. We’d been planning on getting together for months, but never really motivated to do it.

So last night we made plans to get together in the evening. We ordered dinner in, and she and GB had a glass of wine. And then more wine. And then some beer. And then a lot more beer. And it was fun, hanging out with her–more fun than I thought it would be, honestly. It was just nice to hang out with a friend, really. And I was happy about it, after all my bitching, even though I had to drag my sleepy pregnant ass off to bed by midnight, leaving them drinking and listening to music and having fun. Still, it was nice to fall asleep to that.

Except that she and GB got really really drunk, and she decided to sleep on the couch–also totally cool with me. But then this morning? GB dragged his hungover ass to work, and she kept sleeping. And then she’d wake up, and ask me what time it was, and go back to sleep. On the couch. A couple feet from my desk, where I was theoretically supposed to be writing (although I was just fucking around with the baby registry, but whatever–I was *supposed* to be working).

And dudes. She did not leave my house until almost 11:30. And I was like, oh my god, is she EVER going to leave?

So yeah. I whine about having no friends, and then we have one friend over, and then I get all crazy because she won’t leave.

I am clearly an ingrate.  It’s probably for the best that all my friends are long-distance and virtual.

Yes, okay, everything makes me cry lately. And yes, also, I have a really bad problem with nostalgia–I start to miss things, people, times in my life, and I convince myself that I will never, ever be/feel/act that way again, and I find it heartbreaking. This is despite all evidence to the contrary, and despite the fact that every time I’ve moved across the country (this would be time number three) I’ve felt this way for awhile. But this time, it’s harder.

I’m happy with the choices we’ve made (mostly). I’m happy with the decision to have the li’l parasite (mostly…uh, I’m sure I’ll be happy about it in the long run).

But God. Damn. Do I miss getting drunk on martinis with Bad Idea and making out in the doorways of closed liquor stores.

(I uploaded a Whiskytown song into the widget over there, for your listening/weeping pleasure.)

(This post brought to you by pregnancy hormones, three months of sobriety, and MaggieMay’s vicariously delicious story.)

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