Friday, June 29, 2007

HooHah Doctor.

I don't want to go to bed. I have an appointment at Planned Parenthood in the morning for my yearly hoohah exam, and I don't want to go to bed because when I wake up it will be time for the hoohah exam.

I don't want my hoohah examined. I don't want birth control pills. I don't want a pap smear. I want to have a baby. I can't have a baby because I'm poor and my man can't act right for more than 2 weeks at a time.

But I do want a baby, so much I can feel it in my arms. I want a big screaming fat baby that won't let me nap, ever. I want a baby to dump things on the ground and cry and nurse. I want to be pregnant and huge and obviously, wonderfully full of my terrible, beautiful husband.

He was being so handsome tonight, sitting around with his eyelashes. He has so much hair lately, all this beard hair and head hair. I want to touch it all the time. I can't believe I get to sleep next to someone so handsome. I should diet.

I noticed tonight that I'm really physically kind of falling apart. I've been excusing it in myself for a while because I've been busy writing hundreds of thousands of blog posts each day and making sure that I don't go completely insane with worry and fear and projection and all that jazz that Nar-Anon tells me I'm not supposed to do. But I've always been a person who took good care of her body, and I like being healthy and eating healthy and looking nice. I'm on the verge of being a slob now. I never move around and I eat whatever I want and hardly dress myself.

Some of this stuff has to do with being broke...I can't afford new clothes, so I just wear the shabby shit that I have. But other parts of it are just a real personal slovenly, shittiness. I just can't muster up the energy to style my hair (and it's really short hair, so it doesn't take that much), to tie my shoes, to not wear stained clothes. At my meeting tonight, I finally tied my shoes. It was at 7:00. I left the house this morning at 10:00. I wore my sneakers all day, untied.

While I love that I have a job where it's acceptable to wear untied sneakers, blog incessantly, and dress like homeless people, maybe it's not always the healthiest thing. I'm starting fresh, next week. I'm going to try to make myself pretty. I like me more when I'm pretty.

Alright. That's all I can ramble. I can't resist sleep any longer, hoohah doctor or no.

7 comments:

Mary P Jones (MPJ) said...

I am going to blog about how I've let my looks go in the aftermath of the addiction revelation. I wanted to look terrible to test my husband...

April said...

Yes, yes. I know exactly what you mean. Sitting around at a desk all day. Not even hungry, just eating. Packing it on for winter. Well no more, sister!! We must rise up and fight the temptation!!

Anonymous said...

I understand all of the baby feelings, as you have heard them from me already.
As for feeling pretty, you need to! We ride the same emotional roller coaster as our husbands do. Just because they fell like shit doesn't mean we have to look like shit!
Fix yourself pretty!

Tigermom said...

Keep that hoohah healthy for when it is ready for more adventures.

Tigermom

The Discovering Alcoholic said...

I was going to leave a pithy comment here and express my thanks for your input at TDA this week but I just didn't think a pithy hoohah sounded very nice.

longvowels said...

We already have children.

just another addict said...

"He was being so handsome tonight, sitting around with his eyelashes."
U r so adorable, j-wife.
really.
Peace,
Scout