jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

Ovulation is rolling around and all the lights are green, so we’re making our first attempt out of three allowed to us by my gyno before we go back to her and she does… whatever it is she’s going to do.

I feel optimistic, now that I know that my uterus is “tipped” and how to accomodate that.

I’ve been pretty calm about the whole affair, even though we’ve been trying for a while now. I talk to women who tell me they were panicking after two or three months of trying, and we’re well past that. But if we go past two tries now I think I’m think some of the seams are going to start to show. I believe another friend to be trying now and, while I’m not proud of this, I know if she winds up knocked up before I do I’m (privately) going to be upset. Not so upset that I won’t be genuinely thrilled for her. But upset.

What does it mean when you have a sex dream about a celebrity who holds absolutely no appeal of that sort during your waking hours? I mean, what a waste. Ben Affleck? Really? Why why why?

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On the nightstand: The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis
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No.
No.
No.
Don’t want to.
No.
No.

I have to do our taxes.

We’re moving to a new office building soon (the greenest highrise in Manhattan, by the by) so some folks are cleaning up and out their space.

Babs, our food editor, grudgingly decided to give up some of her cook books, so she sent us all an email saying: Cook books for sale. $1 apiece. All money goes to an animal shelter my sister runs out west.

Being a responsible and moderate person, I went up there with $3 in my pocket.

She had, literally, about 1,000 books up for grabs. 28 cook books later I was done (for the day). I told her I’d probably come back tomorrow. I was in hog heaven. I got one fat book just on cooking onions.

Now, a few of those are for friends and family. Sushi for Mick, habanero pepper recipes for Kellee, casseroles for Janel… But that still leaves about 19 for me. Damon’s going to build me a shelf (or three) in the kitchen.

Won’t you all come over for dinner?

It’s the little things that make the day fun.

Today I went to a meeting at iVillage accompanied by my colleague Justin. He’s right up there at the top of my list of favored coworkers as we have a natural rapport.

After the meeting five of us crammed into the teeny elevator in the iVillage building. We hit the lobby button. Then we went down two floors, then up three, then up a few more, then down a few. This went on for a few minutes while we debated whether or not we should get off and try to catch another car in the hopes that only this one was malfunctioning. Finally two people bailed out, freeing up some space. It was when we had a little more room we noticed that there were TWO button panels in that miniscule car and Justin was leaning on the second one, effectively pushing random buttons as he shifted his weight.

We’re closing day five of the sugar fast. I’m honestly surprised that it’s not more difficult. I think I’m eating too much fat now, but one thing at a time. It’s mostly good fats like avocado and nuts, but I still want to hold it down a bit more. One huge and encouraging change I’ve noticed is that my mid-afternoon slump isn’t happening. Usually some time between two and three I get so tired I can hardly function. No more. Now I look at the clock and think: Is it already six????

Last night Damon and I went to see Brokeback Mountain. What can I say that hasn’t already been said? I loved its simplicity the same way I loved the simplicity of The Straight Story. It was beautiful and romantic and sad in a deep way. It deserves all the hoo ha it generated. The shot of Heath Ledger wreathed in fireworks should assure that cinematographer a lifetime of work.

We’re working our way through season three of Little House on the Prairie courtesy of Netflix and the library. Damon rolls his eyes, but whenever I put the disc in he seems to find his way to the couch. It’s that way.

Okay, pumpkin time. I’m ready for bed.