I heard this today on NPR.  The story made me want to fucking puke.  Maybe if it hadn't had a 'happy ending', a phrase I primarily associate with getting jerked off at the end of a massage.  I don't know why I have to be like that.  I should take comfort(s) from the things aimed directly at me (my 'demographic') for such purpose(s).  But I hear that dude's voice dripping with appreciative empathy and I just want to smack the shit out of him and anybody else listening and thinking anything like 'awwww' (fuck you). 

After a couple days of jumping against the waves backwards and being water-blown back to shore, I said I fucking love the ocean. He says, This is a sea. Oh, I say, well…it’s salty…. Yes, he says, the Caribbean is salt water. Oh, right. (pause) I wonder, Where are we exactly? (Wait, don’t answer that, I don’t care.)

He can’t see with his glasses off, and doesn’t particularly like the sea (or ocean or lake…water with fish in it freaks him out by half), he goes in with me anyway, getting salt water up his ass and nose as I gleefully jump against crashing tides again and again and again. He pulls out what he thinks is 2 wet dollars from his shorts to tip the bartender for the drink he needs after that and accidentally tips the guy 40 USD, after which point we are known as JEAMBEAMCOKE! and LADY!, and are called to the front of the line at the beach bar whenever we get anywhere near it.

Well, he says, looking out at the water again as I sip a hospitably strong-ass Mojito, This is a kind of bay, I think. Attached to which ocean? Um, I dunno, I think it’s under California. I think that’s the Baha peninsula (?), I say…that thing that kinda comes down…but that wouldn’t be the Caribbean…and the flight would have been longer….right? I dunno for sure, but no the Caribbean is like south of where Cuba is …. or whatever. So this must be, like, the gulf of Mexico…right? Ok, right, I think so. I thought seas were, like, had land all around em. Yeah I dunno. We have no idea where we are right now. Nope. Ok let’s try to figure it out. Ok. So if this is the Caribbean Sea, and it doesn’t need to be surrounded by land, then we are, like, looking across at Florida. That’s Cancun across over there to the leftish. Oh. Where is, like, the Dominican and Bahamas and shit like that? Assuming we are not below California, it’d be over there somewhere. Behind Cancun? No Cancun is north of here, because we drove south to get here. Then we’re looking north?, cz um the sun comes up over there so that’d be east. Right, so, um, yeah I dunno. I don’t think a person can easily DEDUCE geography. Clearly not. This is All-Inclusive Available for Valentines on the Beach in Mexico Somewhere to Keep Your Woman from Committing Suicide Land, wherever that is exactly (hahahahaha….)

I leave in a couple days. I have been bleeding for the better part of a month. My lips are gray.

Mark goes into hospice this week. So does my grandmother. That is all I know about either situation, my sister informing me only to warn me to refer all issues to her, such as The Girl’s potentially wanting to fly there, etc., until I get back. “Don’t even leave the number with anyone, I could find you if I needed to, and I won’t.” I don’t talk to my mother, who is standing next to her during the call, I can hear her whimpering. My sister’s voice breaks. They are both just heartbroken for the baby lost. Everyone wanted that baby and it feels like the loss of the joy of it grows as other losses mount. (I think: I should have named her Joy. The next name I give will be Joy.)

Aa keeps me close, constant wrapping around me, can’t wait to get me to where the universe can hopefully stop finding me. To him, the world itself is like an exlover of mine, some kind of threat to my wellbeing ft. who is trying to get into my pants. He encircles me, growly. He would put me in a witness protection program if that’d keep God from knowing where I am. Yesterday he went to yoga with me, he’d rather be with me at all times possible and I prefer it as well (plus I very selfishly wanted him to know how hard I've been working to get better), so he whose idea of exercise is over work ala mainlining coffee and chain smoking bought a pair of shorts at Target on the way to the studio...  Halfway through the practice, he is filled with rage, overcome by it and feels like he is having a heart attack, wants to choke the teacher to death, sweat dripping into his eyes and he glares at her (hugely pregnant and not breaking a sweat at all) and at me (“It was good workout," he says gamely, "now that I can breathe again, but at the time I was thinking YOU ARE FUCKING MENTAL FOR DOING THIS”) and I’m aware of his distress and aware of the woman next to me, who just so happens to be one of our midwives. Later there is a voicemail from those midwives, asking if I’m okay, doubting it I can hear in her voice.

Numb, I can’t muster any profundity whatsoever about any of it. If any of this is a sign system, I can’t read it. I just hurt all over so no pain is registering as particular, dread throughout me like deep tissue bruising. And I don’t pray for that to stop either. I don’t trust myself to know what would be “good” or “bad” to occur, so I’m afraid to pray. In my head, I sew curtains of beautiful lime green crewel, I have no idea why (maybe it’s some kinda spell).

" When I'm outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all." Rumi

Snowed in. Under normal circumstances, I might hate that. As it is, I think it is a gift from the universe that I cannot and thus don't have to even try. We go to the grocery store to stock up and we get separated and I run into to Tony and chitchat for a minute. Aa gets bent outa shape. I might hate that and do in general, snits over Johns stupid habs for instance (eyerollll), but as it is I find it heartening, his faith in a universe in which the problem of the day could ever be my flirting, if fucking only, my guts hurting like hell. Someone has to keep the faith and right now it must be him.

from the Circling the Drain (Again) playlist,
Wallpaper: "Rumor Has It" F. Danny Brown (Adele Cover) ... run the equivalent of 9 miles until I puke then lay down to sleep with a hat pulled down over my sweaty hair and face all afternoon....

http://m.psychologytoday.com/blog/isnt-what-i-expected/201202/pregnancy-loss-and-depression and more and more I just want to be left alone

leveled

Recovery is a slow process. I wish it felt meaningful during. Having to keep faith in a future retrospect at which point having recovered feels meaninful ... uhh, that is awfully abstract. And abstractions, like just about everything and everybody, only get on my virgo fucking nerves.