I'm down to half the zoloft, those little blue fuckers that saved my mind once, twice, three times.* And: I'm half capable of handling stress, small slights, the UnFriending of myself by my oldest son on Facebook, the slight shift in my husband's thrust which assures me I am un-sexy, possibly disgusting, a ridiculous insecure vain stumbling fumbling creature doing the almost subconscious act of growing an entirely other human being directly above the triangular gate that brought her there. The unfriendly face of a co-worker makes me want to bite my knuckles or throw baby powder at her. The whine of my eight year old daughter competes with the hedge trimmers next door. I am sure that I will never want to have sex again for this entire pregnancy, and am shocked by the resilience of desire when I submit myself** and am stolen away into a hypnotic lustful trance, one I cannot exactly replicate when taking those little blue fuckers.
I read Susan Cheever's Desire the other night, and was stuck with the giggles when she quotes a man in discussion about male gynocologists- he tells her many of them over drinks are happy to say how much pleasure they get from fondling their patients during exams, and any vaginal exam over fifteen seconds is 'just playing'. I had a male gyno and was sure, once or twice, he was having way too much fun with my young body, then ended up not sure if it said more about him that he enjoyed it or more about me that I didn't care enough to switch doctors. I thought this particular doctor was very amusing; he drove a red Porsche, had balding cul-de-sacs and business in the front party in the rear, wore his white doctor shirts slightly unbuttoned and had a feral pointy face with the flared nostrils of a man perpetually aroused. He was married and had three daughters. All of his staff were young good looking women with big breasts.
I am angry with half the world***. The more irritable I get, the more clear it seems that most people are full of shit and less clear why I bother to make nice. ( This is ... full of shit on my part, but I'm accepting these feelings as a temporary highjacking, making nice with the terrorists, bringing them bread and wine. ) If a person is irritated and makes a passive gesture ( a sigh, a face ) I'd prefer they'd just scream motherfucking bitch and get it over with. I'd just like to know what's on their mind. I'd like to be around a woman right now who can claim most of what and who she is so that I can claim my own with witness. Part of what I love about blogging is if I shared ' I can't really connect with this baby because the shadow self won't let me believe it's really going to be OK ' then every single one of you won't respond with platitudes or exhortations on how I just shouldn't think that way. Human beings don't seem to realize that other human beings just need, for the most part, to be heard. I think of this as often as I can with my children.
* yes I tried fish oil ( still take it daily ) meditation, yoga, SAME, St. Johns, therapy and everything but an enema
** yes, sometimes i submit myself to my husband. i have strong feelings about what keeps a
marriage intimate, and believe that a man and woman- if married on the basis of loving regular sex- should have sex with each other even when they don't feel like it. you know, take one for the team. i did this for three months after Lola was born and accidentally kicked my sex drive into such high gear Mr. Curry took to carrying a slightly worn, smug look around town.
***this, i realize, has no bearing on anything else i've discussed beforehand. it's a pregression- a digression during pregnancy.