17.3.00

15 Days

(Preface: I had typed about a paragraph here and then the power just went out. Grr! Blargh!)

Tangerine.

I feel like tangerine right now. I'm not exactly surrounded by orange objects (though the "Friends" calander above my monitor is all citrus-y for March; there's an orange backdrop behind a photograph of the cast in a group-hug type pose, comforting Ross after his marriage with Emily failed... that I know this indicates the sad depth of my television addiction), but my mood is mellow with a quiet sense of joy. It is autumn and the sunshine outside is soft, illuminating leaves that have fallen from the trees outside. I usually don't even like natural light, but at certain times of the year, its simple beauty can astound me.

It is autumn, and there are only 15 days to go until our wait is over. A fortnight worth of sleeps until Jo drives me to the airport, nervous and chattery, sleepless and on-edge; a fortnight worth of sleeps until Nathan alights from the plane and...

...my imagination fills in the blanks with gazes and his beautiful guitarist fingers wrapped around mine; a long embrace that shuts out the entire world around us, the din of other travellers fading out as I hide against his chest, maybe crying with sheer relief and peacefulness.

We have waited so long, so very long... my stomach is filled with tiny orange butterflies, all waiting to burst free.

I didn't go to work today, preferring to nurse my cramps in the company of myself and my family, rather than surrounded by men who like to make lewd jokes and drowning out the phonecalls I take with talk of "fucking hot girls" they saw whilst out of the weekend. I don't want to hear it - I don't care how they describe the people they find "hot", but I do want to do my job without having to repeat myself to users who start to think, after a while, that I'm an idiot. I don't want to have to say, "I'm sorry, can I put you on hold for a second?", inflicting upon them music I wouldn't make my worst enemy listen to, so I can demand that they just shut up. Bringing upon myself stares and worries that I'm going to get all high-mighty-feminist on them, suing them for a random comment that might be construed as offensive.

My uterus tends to rebel against having to deal with that.

I may be going to see Magnolia tonight. I have no real idea of what the movie is like, so it should be a pleasant movie-going experience. Usually I ruin it all for myself, reading spoilers and looking at movie sites, getting caught up in hype and disappointing myself (The Blair Witch Project anyone? I did find it scary, but I was more peturbed by the fighting than anything. However, the very ending did give me the willies, so the hype didn't ruin it all), but lately I'm not doing that. I'm especially looking forward to Scream 3 - I haven't heard nor seen anything other than a snippet of the trailer on Entertainment Tonight, and that's the way I want it to be. (Don't look at me like that. I've been looking forward to the last movie in the trilogy ever since the first Scream. You have your guilty cinematic pleasures, I'm sure of it.)

I'm determined to get through this without painkillers. Determined, I tell you! I have a theory (picked up from the controversially titled book, "Cunt", by Inga Muscio - if you haven't read it, I do recommend it, for both genders) that if I go through a couple of periods without resorting to painkillers, the pain will lessen, as will my dependency on the chemicals I'm used to. I went through the last one without painkillers, and I'm going to do the same this time.

Though that strange exploding feeling around the general area of my uterus is something that disturbs me a great deal.

(This is not a weblog. But I still reserve the right to link and pimp.) Whilst I go have a lie-down, go visit Sandy (proving that text outweighs eye-candy, since 1996) and then hunt out some freebies (I've lost track of how many free t-shirts I have coming to me). No, don't thank me.)