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2001-10-16 / 7:05 p.m. ~Vomit, Blood, Dreadlocks and Hockey~ Hey, and that's not going to include anthrax and bombings. Right. I walked in the door, home from work, and first thing I see is a hairball on the carpet. So I feed the cats, after I take off my shoes and put down my bag, come back to clean it up, and my new can of carpet shampoo won't work, the sprayer won't spray. I can't figure it out, and the shit's expensive, so I'm pissed, naturally, but I deal with it, briefly anyway. Then I come in here to get online, to write some email, check my email, and I'm anxious to do it because there's a game on in just a few minutes, and really I should be going (don't you love run-on sentences?!), but I'm not going because this is my heavy day of my period and I've felt like crap for several hours, and well, because I don't want to sit by myself in that arena for three hours - even though tonight is Magnetic Schedule Night! Dammit! I'm hoping they'll have some magnets left over and I can get one next game. They will, right? I wanted to call Joe and ask him to get me one, but I no longer have his number. Dammit! So, I'm sitting here, going through the email from the anti-war list serv, and Norma pukes up the food I just fed her, on the faux Oriental rug (notice how rugs are still Oriental, but people are Asian now?), and I can't get the damned carpet cleaner can to spray, though it's full, so I'm pissed, but it's not her fault, she can't help it, and I move her to the floor in the kitchen, Please, Norma, please throw up on the linoleum! Okay? There's a girl....see? But, she's through. And she gives me that, "I just threw up" look. And I say, Yeah, I know. It's not your fault, I'm just in a hurry. I have to tape "Gilmore Girls" so I can watch the game, but I should be GOING, not just watching on TV, and why don't I have hockey friends? Why can't I meet some guy who loves hockey, who will invest in season tickets....er....like Joe. Wait...why didn't Joe and I hook up? Oh, that's a whole 'nother story there. We'll save that for another time...but it's good, I assure you. We really liked each other. Such a chore is life. Today we got another temp, and he is indeed a man, a young man, 26 ("How old do you think I am?"), and he has long dreadlocks, and he talks with a bit of a Jamaican accent (his father's parents are Jamaican), and he is soft-spoken and he takes notes when I tell him things, and yeah, um, I am attracted to him, and I can't be, that's not professional. He moves too slowly for me, he saunters when he walks, baggy pants trailing on the floor. He is intriguing, to me. Oh, wow, to have testosterone in our department is a total trip! I have no idea where this will go, but I asked if he'd return after lunch, expecting a replay of the Tiffany scenario, then again at the end of the day, "Are you coming back tomorrow?", and he had asked early in the day if the company is hiring. (Pause to see why Norma is sneezing - she is in the big box that contained my mail order stuff, the box with all the paper in it. I love her SO much! I told her so, gave her kisses on her little head, smoothed her hair, I want to squeeze her now....and when I feel that much love pour out of me, towards her, or Gladys, or anyone, I think what will I do when she dies? Why do I do that?!!!) So, yeah, we have a new guy, and he has an old name, an unusal, but literary, sort of name, and an even more unusual nickname, and he wears a leather jacket that smells old, and he is going to work with us, the crazy women in our department, the mood swingingest women in the world. Omigod, what has he gotten himself into? So I should be finding my seat in the arena about now, checking out the crowd, looking for people I know, people from the hockey message boards, the ones I met the first season, for we are charter members of the Thrashers fan club, if there were such a thing, and maybe there is, but I don't speak literally, not now. And Joe is there, and he has a magnet, a Magnetic Schedule for Magnetic Schedule night, and I have to watch in the bedroom while the VCR records "Gilmore Girls" because it's an old VCR, and an older TV and it can't record one channel while I watch another. And in the bedroom I'll want to lie down, or sleep, or masturbate or something, because that is what beds are for, sleeping and sex, not watching hockey.....though they are good for that too. Oh, speaking of sex, speaking of anatomy, speaking of women's anatomy, when I have cramps I like to be really technical, I don't say, "Ugh, I have CRAMPS!", I prefer to say, "My uterus HURTS!". I told one of the L.s that today, "L., my uterus hurts!", and she says, "Why?", and I say, "Because it's contracting", and she says, "Why?", and I say, "Because my egg wasn't fertilized!", and it sinks in, and she gets to her desk and laughs, and I could've just said, "L., I have CRAMPS!", but it wouldn't have been as much fun. And it was one of those days (look away if you're squeamish) when those big clots of tissue are expelled along with bright red blood, and as I'm pulling out a drenched tampon to replace it with a fresh one I cringe a bit, feel like I'm losing a part of myself, and I am, I'm doing just that. And I begin to feel weak, knowing that I'm bleeding like that, and I think about what's happening, how my uterus had expanded a bit, how the lining had thickened, all in preparation for a fertilized egg to plant itself there for 9 cozy months, but the silly egg just passed along, no sperm came its way, it left me too, and now my uterus shrinks back, ho hum, no embryo to hold, to cuddle, time to shed all that excess lining, in big red blobs. That's it, it happens once a month, every 29 days or so. And it hurts. And anyone who says it doesn't, well, doesn't "feel". I want to feel, I don't want to take things, drugs - the Kava Kava was good when I was desperate, but I don't want to mask it. I want to know that this is happening to me, as it should, that I am normal, that I am a woman, I can breed. Right. Time for HOCKEY!!!! (oh, I hear the U.S. bombed a Red Cross food warehouse in Afghanistan today - that was real nice - good going - God Fucking Bless America) Cost of the War in Iraq
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