I went to see a clairvoyant about a year ago, and he said he could see a baby in my life in the next twelve months. Now, I'm the first to call bullshit when it comes to the supernatural, but that's kind of spooky. Of course, it's possible that his words were in the back of my mind when I came off the Pill and I was subconsciously daring the universe to prove him right.
He also said I'd get involved with a man from Yorkshire. I thought that was the guy I met a few months ago, who I was head over heels about, but then he swanned off to Morocco and met some other girl, so I guess it's not him. I'm inclined to take that as proof that psychics are pulling it all out of their arses, but rationally I know that's only because I liked him so much and he found someone better. That's not evidence against the psychic community, that's just a bitter women pining over what could've been.
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
Every so often
I get a mad urge to text the ex-father of my aborted foetus and tell him everything. But what good would it do? None whatsoever...I think I just want to see what his reaction would be. It's probably because I've carried this knowledge by myself for the past 9 weeks or so - the need to tell someone, anyone, is growing, and he's the obvious candidate. But deep down I know I never will. It's between me and my uterus.
Wednesday, 18 July 2007
As of today
the post below is no longer accurate. Keeping it was never an option, and luckily I didn't get any maternal feelings at all in my 8 weeks of being up the duff. It never once felt like a baby in there - still doesn't, it was a cluster of cells and now it's nothing. I have no regrets whatsoever.
I've kept it all secret though. Couldn't tell my ultra-Catholic mother obviously, and I found I just didn't want to tell anyone else. I much prefer to deal with things myself, with minimum fuss, and while that isn't always the right decision, it definitely was in this case. I just drove myself to the clinic, had it done, and drove home.
I want to have kids someday, but now is not the right time. I have no money, no job, not in a relationship with the father, and I live between my parents' and student accommodation. Once I've finished my course, graduated and got a job, then it'll be time to start breeding. It wouldn't be fair to bring a child into the world in these circumstances.
That last paragraph sounds like I'm trying to justify my decision. In fact, I feel no need to justify it whatsoever, because I know 100% it was the right thing for me.
I will say this - thank Christ for the NHS. I don't know how people in the US cope; there's no way I could've found £250 to get this done. Not to mention countries where abortion isn't legal - there were 5 women in the recovery room with me, and 4 of them were Irish. It was bad enough having to drive 30 miles home afterwards, imagine having to get on a plane or (heaven forbid) a ferry. I've always supported abortion rights in an abstract kind of way, but now it's top of my list. I have a lot to be thankful for.
I've kept it all secret though. Couldn't tell my ultra-Catholic mother obviously, and I found I just didn't want to tell anyone else. I much prefer to deal with things myself, with minimum fuss, and while that isn't always the right decision, it definitely was in this case. I just drove myself to the clinic, had it done, and drove home.
I want to have kids someday, but now is not the right time. I have no money, no job, not in a relationship with the father, and I live between my parents' and student accommodation. Once I've finished my course, graduated and got a job, then it'll be time to start breeding. It wouldn't be fair to bring a child into the world in these circumstances.
That last paragraph sounds like I'm trying to justify my decision. In fact, I feel no need to justify it whatsoever, because I know 100% it was the right thing for me.
I will say this - thank Christ for the NHS. I don't know how people in the US cope; there's no way I could've found £250 to get this done. Not to mention countries where abortion isn't legal - there were 5 women in the recovery room with me, and 4 of them were Irish. It was bad enough having to drive 30 miles home afterwards, imagine having to get on a plane or (heaven forbid) a ferry. I've always supported abortion rights in an abstract kind of way, but now it's top of my list. I have a lot to be thankful for.
Thursday, 28 June 2007
Tuesday, 26 June 2007
Friday, 22 June 2007
Act 1 - in which our heroine begins to reveal her sluttiness.
Me: I'm meeting [Potential New Boyfriend] tomorrow night, so could you drop me off at the station?
Mother: Of course. Will you need to be picked up again later?
Me: Nope.
Mother: Oh.
Long pause.
Mother: Don't you think it's a bit soon to be staying at his house? It's only been two weeks.
Me: Nope.
And scene.
If only she knew I'd fucked him within an hour of meeting him. In fact, if she had any idea what my "number" actually is, I really think a valve in her brain would pop. Ignorance is bliss.
Still no period. 9 days late, that's not a big deal is it?
Mother: Of course. Will you need to be picked up again later?
Me: Nope.
Mother: Oh.
Long pause.
Mother: Don't you think it's a bit soon to be staying at his house? It's only been two weeks.
Me: Nope.
And scene.
If only she knew I'd fucked him within an hour of meeting him. In fact, if she had any idea what my "number" actually is, I really think a valve in her brain would pop. Ignorance is bliss.
Still no period. 9 days late, that's not a big deal is it?
Saturday, 16 June 2007
Well...
...how much of an idiot am I?
I was pottering about at my parents' house this evening, making a vegetable stock for the soup I'm planning to cook up later in the week when I realised it was 10 o' clock and I was about to miss Law & Order (shut up, it's my favourite show). So I dash from the kitchen into the living room to set the video, and bam! I run right into the armchair. Two toes go right, three toes go left, I go down. And not in the fun way.
I've lived in this house for 23 years. The chair has pretty much always been in the same position. I have never once bumped into it before. But anyway...
I'm on the floor, clutching my foot and saying every swear word that comes into my head. "Motherfucker" featured heavily. When I got up and limped back into the kitchen, I realised there was something touching my fourth toe that wasn't there before - I immediately assumed a flap of skin was hanging loose and there would be blood everywhere. Not so. When my sock came off, I was faced with my 3rd toe pointing in a whole different direction to the way it had previously pointed. I swear, the visual was worse than the pain.
So I tried to stick it out for a while, downed a bit of vodka like any normal person would. My initial reaction, being an all-knowing first year nursing student, was to strap the sore toe to the one next of it with a bit of elastoplast and hope for the best. But then I started having visions of the damn thing turning black and dropping off, so I decided to drive to the hospital. Tipsy. No, I'm not even slightly proud.
Once there I was looked over by the triage nurse (who obviously had better things to do with her Saturday night, judging by her expression), sent back to the waiting room, examined by a doctor, sent back to the waiting room, sent to a different waiting room to wait for an x ray, x rayed, sent back to the original waiting room...then the doctor showed me my x ray on the screen thing - broken toe. What do they do with broken toes?
Yep, strap them to the adjoining toe with elastoplast. I could've saved myself two and a half hours and an awful lot of hobbling, not to mention wincing every time I used the clutch pedal in the car. But that's me, ever cautious.
So now I can barely get myself up the stairs - imagine a gorilla using a staircase, relying mostly on its knuckles. That's me. I've got a dentist appointment Monday morning that I'm not going to be able to drive to without further injuring myself, my parents get home from their holiday on Monday afternoon and the house is a tip, with no possibility that I'm going to be able to clean it to the required standard, I haven't pooped in at least a week, and my period is late. Merry fucking Christmas.
I was pottering about at my parents' house this evening, making a vegetable stock for the soup I'm planning to cook up later in the week when I realised it was 10 o' clock and I was about to miss Law & Order (shut up, it's my favourite show). So I dash from the kitchen into the living room to set the video, and bam! I run right into the armchair. Two toes go right, three toes go left, I go down. And not in the fun way.
I've lived in this house for 23 years. The chair has pretty much always been in the same position. I have never once bumped into it before. But anyway...
I'm on the floor, clutching my foot and saying every swear word that comes into my head. "Motherfucker" featured heavily. When I got up and limped back into the kitchen, I realised there was something touching my fourth toe that wasn't there before - I immediately assumed a flap of skin was hanging loose and there would be blood everywhere. Not so. When my sock came off, I was faced with my 3rd toe pointing in a whole different direction to the way it had previously pointed. I swear, the visual was worse than the pain.
So I tried to stick it out for a while, downed a bit of vodka like any normal person would. My initial reaction, being an all-knowing first year nursing student, was to strap the sore toe to the one next of it with a bit of elastoplast and hope for the best. But then I started having visions of the damn thing turning black and dropping off, so I decided to drive to the hospital. Tipsy. No, I'm not even slightly proud.
Once there I was looked over by the triage nurse (who obviously had better things to do with her Saturday night, judging by her expression), sent back to the waiting room, examined by a doctor, sent back to the waiting room, sent to a different waiting room to wait for an x ray, x rayed, sent back to the original waiting room...then the doctor showed me my x ray on the screen thing - broken toe. What do they do with broken toes?
Yep, strap them to the adjoining toe with elastoplast. I could've saved myself two and a half hours and an awful lot of hobbling, not to mention wincing every time I used the clutch pedal in the car. But that's me, ever cautious.
So now I can barely get myself up the stairs - imagine a gorilla using a staircase, relying mostly on its knuckles. That's me. I've got a dentist appointment Monday morning that I'm not going to be able to drive to without further injuring myself, my parents get home from their holiday on Monday afternoon and the house is a tip, with no possibility that I'm going to be able to clean it to the required standard, I haven't pooped in at least a week, and my period is late. Merry fucking Christmas.
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