Within Our Mean Means

Oh, and it's payday. We lived within our means this month. We actually did. Here's what it took:

No new clothes, no new shoes or coat for my husband, no dry-cleaning, no gas for the car, no heat or ac, no haircuts, no going to the movies, no new books, no magazines, no travel, no wine, no plentiful food, except when his parents bought our groceries one week.

Unless I find a job, this was a one-month-only. We both need haircuts. One of us really needs a winter coat. And it's almost October. We will need heat.

Ah, well. This whole not sliding into more debt thing was cool while it lasted.

Preg-Not

I'm not pregnant. My period started last night.

I'm rallying, though. Today is payday and I'm going to take my little monies and buy good food, vitamins for my husband, decaf green tea for me. We are going to eat and relax this month. I'm going to gain a few pounds and enjoy it. We will have sex a few times a week to keep the pressure off and the fun on.

I thought about skipping charting and just letting go, but I think it would feel too much like being blind. I'd have absolutely no idea what time it was, what to look for. I wouldn't know when to test, even.

I really hope I don't have another 43 day cycle. Let's be a happy 32 day cycle this time. M'kay?

Are you doing this on purpose?

So...it's 15 dpo and I haven't gotten my period. Before we all get too excited (I'm talking to you over there), my temperature this morning was nothing to rave about. It spent three days at 98.3, then 2 at 98.2, and now 2 at 98.1. Going down, not so good. But I was surprised that it's still 98.1. Last month on this day, it took a nose dive and my period started.

I know my luteal phase can vary by one or two days. I know this. But what if tomorrow my temperature went up? That would be interesting. And hysteria producing.

I was really depressed yesterday, but feel much better today, and not because I'm hopeful about being pregnant in any way (but I am a little hopeful. Dammit). I feel premenstrual and the temps don't lie. Do temps ever go up after looking like this is it? I have to think of a google-sinct phrase for that.

My husband is working late and I'm curled up on the couch with a blanket and the laptop. I didn't even pretend to write today and it felt honest. I'm not going to beat myself up, at least not today.

Let's save my period and self-beat down for tomorrow.

Greetings from the PMS Couch

I am 98% certain that I am not pregnant. I'd say 100%, but I haven't actually gotten my period yet or had a negative test. My temperature has been flat and today went down a tiny bit, and I feel desperately premenstrual. Which explains all of the crying inside.

I feel like I'm trying so hard at so many things and none of them are working out. Well, maybe I'm not trying that hard at writing or figuring out what I'm doing, but I am trying to get pregnant and keep us afloat financially.

Maybe listing my efforts will make me feel less loserish:

1. Wrote consistently for about a month. Sent out queries to magazines. Sent piece to local paper.
2. As of Friday, will have made it through a month without touching meager savings or sliding further into debt. This has everything to do with self-denial and hyper-concientious money tracking.
3. Began charting my temperature. Have two charts now, used opk's correctly. Am taking prenatal vitamins (have been for months). Have plan for vitamins for my husband, herbs for me, and a judicious use of eggwhites.

All good work, but not enough apparently. Revamped pregnancy plans also include yoga and meditation and a heftier diet. I think vegetarianism and walking everywhere may have made me too skinny (I know, what a terrible problem to have). This baby needs something to hold on to.

The problem with the writing is that I really haven't been doing much beyond spending time with my husband and hosting guests. I'm leading a very inner life and it leaves me with little to talk about. I need to get out there somehow. Oh joy for the introvert.

As far as the financial stuff goes, I have been vigilant and organized. But the truth is, we need things. My husband needs a winter coat and new shoes and a haircut. I need a haircut and winter clothes. I'm starting to look at people who seem flush with lovely clothes and food and things and am getting angry. Angry bitter jealous girl. Which is fair to no one. And not pleasant for me, at all.

I need a job. I've been looking, but I think it's time I started applying.

Bien Venue

This place is starting to feel like a bed and breakfast, except no one pays to stay here. Except Tom's parents who bought us the many and plentiful groceries.

Our friends will be here tonight. The house is mostly clean. New linens are on the beds, fluffy towels are folded and stacked neatly in the bathroom. Extra toilet paper has been made available. Favortie snacks are purchased. Still need good coffee and beer.

We can't afford so many visitors. I can never say no. It will be fun and I should save the stress for when my family comes, two weeks from now.

And I can't drink, just in case of the thing that I'm depressed about because I've decided I'm not until tomorrow when I decide that I am.

I sent out something I wrote in two hours and haven't heard anything back. I'm sure it was terrible.

God. I'm depressed. Welcome guests! We hope you enjoy your stay!

Internets: Tell me what I want to hear.

I finally ovulated. I am now 6 days past ovulation and although I told myself I was going to stay away from the insanity inducing internets, I am asking them all sorts of unanswerable questions. What I really want to put in that little google box is "Am I pregnant?" But I don't think that's common internet knowledge.

So, I stare at other people's charts and compare and contrast. This tells me absolutely zero and puts me in a bad mood.

We have friends coming to town and our visits usually consist of a lot of drinking. I'm going to sit this one out and be awkward around my friend's husband. I have known him 12 years and still have a hard time finding my footing with him. I completely blame myself.

Two people on the periphery of my life have had babies this week. One actual friend just found out she's pregnant. She's only 5 weeks, but had no hesitation in telling me. I remember feeling untouchable like that. It's the way it should be.

Whew.

Yeah, remember all that stuff I said about resenting certain visitors and all that? Well, we had a really good time this weekend, and not just because they took us out for delicious dinners and bought us two weeks worth of groceries that saved me from financial breakdown. So, I'm an asshole and everything is fine.

And, we decided to take our vacation in NYC, not Rome, but that's wonderful and excellent because I love it there and we can actually afford it.

It's all relief and roses over here.

Looking like an ingrate

Oh, dear. This one's going to be a complainer.

I've been cleaning for what feels like 48 hours straight. I'm resenting cleaning, I'm resenting how often my family wants to visit, particularly my in-laws. I'm resenting resembling a housewife in every single way. I'm pissed at myself for not writing the way I should be, not being who I should be.

I'm tormented by the fact that we rented a huge house for more money than we could afford. It was a stupid decision, but the best stupid decision we could have made at the time with Finn, the barkiest dog in the universe. We didn't know that our road with Finn was ending before we even got here, so we worked with what we had. Now, whenever I'm out, I look at apartment buildings and wonder how much for a one bedroom.

I worry about money all the time. I think it's because we have none. We're living on about 150 a week, which includes groceries. It is more than many people have, I know. But without cell phones, cable, car payments, only once a month gas purchases, no heat or ac being used, many pasta dinners and free dvd's from the library, I feel like I am doing my absolute best to make this wished-for life work. Except I'm not. Because I'm not writing. And if I'm not writing, I need to get a job. For financial breathing room, for sanity.

I will give myself next week to get back on the writing wagon. No excuses. We have guests coming next weekend, too, but when you have stay-over guests twice a month, you can't devote this much time to cleaning and preparing. So the house will be a little dirty.

That's another money worry. Everyone takes their vacation here, but we can't afford to go on vacation twice a month. My guests next week are in for a long, boring time.

I hate to look poor. I know this is something that came out of growing up poor and going to a school that decidedly wasn't. I wanted to so much to fit in, to look right. I worked at McDonald's for school clothes money and never invited anyone over. I never mentioned welfare or medicaid, paying for my own contacts so I wouldn't have to wear medicaid glasses anymore. Anyone who has had to wear medicaid glasses feels me on this one. Nothing screams poor like medicaid glasses.

I will write every morning next week. I will chill out about looking poor. I will not offer to pay for things because I can't. And if the writing thing does not start happening again, I will get a job and shut the eff up.

I love having a secret blog. It squeezed it right out of me, and I don't even care about looking like an ingrate.

Hey ho. Let's go.

It's day 24 and I still have not ovulated. What in the fuck. At this point, my cycle will be at least 39 days long.

I typically have long cycles. 37 days is normal for me. But we're edging on the absurd here.

It's going to take me twice as long to get pregnant as someone with a 28 day cycle. I wonder if long cycles are associated with infertility-something to google later. I can really make myself nuts with the googling anything and everything surrounding conception. I'd like to say that google will be dead to me once I'm pregnant but who are we kidding? That's when the obsession will really begin.

I'm eating eggs. Coincidence?

A Roma. Per favore!

I've spent much of the day looking up ways to make a dollar out of fifteen cents, otherwise known as how to take a nice chunk of money gifted to my husband for his graduation and make it take us all the way to Rome. Un cappucino, per favore!

It's a very generous gift. But no matter how hard I squeeze it, it's not enough to fly, stay, and eat.

We're on the mother of all budgets and really have no business contemplating anything of this fantastitude. People in our situation should take that money and tuck it away for a rainy day, which will most likely be tomorrow.

But Rome! Roma. Buon giorno! Ciao! Avertisiamo!

My tongue loves Rome. And I know Rome would love my tongue.

On my regular blog, I'd be apologizing like crazy for even having the possibility of Rome. Oh! I'm not working! I don't deserve a trip like this. I'm a terrible, greedy person. Where do I get off?

But this is not my regular blog and why the hell don't I deserve this? Who doesn't deserve this? I'm telling you right now, you deserve this. You deserve a trip to Rome, or wherever makes you jump up and down inside. You really do.

We probably won't have this much money in one place again for a long time. This money really wants to go to Rome. And if we have to do a little dance and make a little love for it to happen, then that's what we're going to do. Because you deserve it.

What I mean to say

I've been a blogger for a few years now. I made the mistake of telling people I know about my blog and now many people in my life read it and it's incredibly weird. I use it now to tell funny little anecdotes but never go beyond the superficial, because my god. Old boyfriends read that shit. Not to mention my in-laws.

I'm not sure what I intended when I started it, but I don't think I meant for it to be quite so...public. I absolutely see how that makes zero sense, what with this being on the internets and all.

This time, I hope to be a little more anonymous. Yes.

I'm at a strange place in my life. For the first time ever, I'm not working. I'm supposed to take this year to write and figure it all out. Figure it all out-there's a loaded little phrase. To that end, I haven't written anything in about two weeks. And anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm not good enough. And that just depresses the fuck out of me. That and the insane guilt for not "contributing", both to my own household and to society. Society needs me! Don't hate, Society.

I'm also trying to get pregnant. I had a miscarriage almost two years ago. Since then, we've tried on and off. We're in the third month of trying again. I don't want to talk about it with the Real People because I don't want any expectation. And for the love of God, don't ask me outright if I'm pregnant. In fact, don't even look at me. I see the question in your eyes. Your hopeful grandparent eyes. It makes me want to throw a heavy rock at something delicate.

I look for cercival fluid like it's the fucking holy grail.

So, I have this year. This year to get my shit in order, to find something fulfilling to do with my time. I've had jobs. What I want now is something my own. And a baby would be nice, too.

So what should this blog be about then? I guess it's about me trying to figure it all out. Oh, boy.

Gots to get away

Welcome to my new, super secret blog. It's the super secretest.