I (heart) hormones

"And so it is
Just like you said it would be.
Life goes easy on me.
Most of the time.
And so it is,
The shorter story.
No love, no glory.
No hero in her sky.

I can't take my eyes off you..."

-- The Blower's Daughter, Damien Rice



I'm a mess!

I inadvertently told off a girl at work today. Yeah, the words kept accidentally spewing out of my mouth. She's a tough girl, she can handle it, but I'm at my wit's end with myself.

Friends tell me it's hormones. Yeah, it's probably some of that. But it doesn't help that my "fiance" kicked my pregnant ass to the curb a few days ago. And that I don't know why.

Wednesday was Day One back to work: I am singing songs along with the radio on the way to work. EVERY song is about kicking ass. I am totally empowered, happy and ready to kick ass. It is a good day. I see Joe only in passing, across the room, and I think, "This ain't so bad." Then I grab a Kleenex and blow.

Day Two: I am at work only briefly when I have to run to the doctor for an emergency ultrasound for bleeding. I am lying on the table when the ultrasound woman tells me everything is all right and shows me the baby on the screen, all legs and arms and spine and stuff. Then I start weeping uncontrollably. And do so on and off (mostly on) for the rest of the day. Good thing I skipped mascara in the morning. I can't concentrate on work at all. I go house-hunting and feel better. I lie in bed and write Joe a few letters, but my feelings oscillate so wildly that none of them makes sense to me. And why the fuck am I writing that bastard letters?

Day Three: Thank god it's Friday. I'm a puddle of mess. I go back and forth between hating Joe and loving the shit out of him. We're still not even speaking, but most of my stuff is at his place and somehow I have to get it back. But not now. I have a lot of deadline stuff at work, so I keep busy enough, spout off to (at?) my coworker and boss, and when I get home, I look at more houses online so I can go look at them tomorrow. Busy, busy, busy. I'm on a mission. I'm pissed that I'm not allowed to paint while pregnant. Zoe wants a purple room, and I want to be the one to give it to her.



I can't stand not talking to Joe, and I can't stand the idea of talking to him.

I have a pretty good feeling that I haven't hit bottom quite yet. But if the bottom comes in the form of anger, I'll be thrilled. My eyes are so fucking dry from crying, and that annoys me.