HOW DOES THIS THING DIE
I’VE BEEN FLARING MY FINS AT IT FOR WEEKS AND IT STILL WON’T DIE
IT HAS A MAGIC BARRIER THAT STOPS ME FROM EATING IT
IT MAKES NO SENSE
It happened again.
At least, it seems like it.
The other day, we went to the store to buy cornmeal because I wanted to make funchi (the Caribbean version of polenta). I didn’t like the brand they had (store brand, bigger bag than I needed, no ingredient list) and spent some time hunting for alternatives, but without any luck. Finally I gave up and grabbed a bag of the store brand. I put it into our cart with the few other things that we had picked up.
On our way to the cash, PH asked “weren’t you going to grab the cornmeal?”
I gave him a strange look. “I already got it. It’s under the pita bread.”
“Oh, okay, I didn’t see it,” said PH.
Today I went to make the funchi, but I couldn’t find the cornmeal. I didn’t remember unpacking it, now that I thought back, either.
“I can’t remember where I put the cornmeal,” I said to PH.
“Are you sure you got the cornmeal? I never saw it.”
“Of course I did,” I said. “I went to get it right before we headed for the bakery section.”
“I’m just saying, love, that I never saw it in the cart, and I never saw it on the conveyor belt. If you don’t remember putting it away, I think it’s because you didn’t buy it.”
“But I REMEMBER putting it in our cart!”
“Sometimes we think we’ve done things, but we only THINK it.”
“But this isn’t like that,” I said. “That happens to me sometimes, but this isn’t something I THINK I did. It’s something I KNOW I did because I have a very clear memory of it. I remember the weight of the bag, and exactly how it looked sitting in the cart. I remember what part of the bag I grabbed it by. I remember what I did before and after I picked it up.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, love, there’s no cornmeal.”
Am I going crazy?
Okay, so, clearly I don’t have anything in me any more.
I don’t mean no writing inside me. I have LOTS to write. But no energy to write with. Anxiety that makes me avoid even logging on. I’m not even keeping up on my favourite bloggers – so if I haven’t commented on your blog lately, I’m sorry. I’ll catch up some day.
Strange things are beginning to happen to me.
Twice in a couple days I discovered that something I REMEMBERED doing had not been done. The first couple times, they involved the computer system at work so it was easy to dismiss it as a glitch.
But then the other night, I went to make myself some lemon sparkling water. I pulled a new bottle of club soda from the cupboard, put some lemon juice in a glass and mixed up a drink, which I drank at dinner. Then I went for a refill.
The bottle sitting on the counter where I left it, but was still full, and the top was still sealed.
…So I must have put in the lemon water and added tap water from the sink to make my drink, even though I had JUST PULLED OUT a bottle of club soda. Then I drank the whole thing without noticing that it wasn’t fizzing.
But the kicker was last night. I put Beloved Dog out the front door for his evening pee and put his food in the microwave to warm up, part of my night time before-bed routine.
Later, reading in bed, I realized that I had NO MEMORY of having let him back in again and put down his food.
I jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs, calling my dog’s name. No response. The front door was closed – normally I leave it open until Beloved Dog comes running back in, anxious for his dinner.
I yanked it open. Beloved Dog wasn’t on the door step. I looked in the microwave – there was his food.
How long had he been out there? An hour? He could be anywhere.
I ran upstairs, still holding the container of food, to throw on some clothes. PH stirred. He asked what I was doing and I told him what I had done.
“Beloved Dog’s in his crate, I put him there when I came to bed. Don’t you remember?”
No. I didn’t. I don’t remember letting Beloved Dog inside again. I don’t know why I didn’t get his food and feed him like I do every night when I let him inside. I don’t remember.
I wish I could say that it’s pregnancy brain, but if so, it’s remarkably early – my period’s not even due for another week.
Assuming it shows up. My period has been irregular ever since the D&C. I actually went to my doctor three weeks ago and asked her for a referral to a specialist, because I’m still not pregnant and this month my period was been a whole week overdue before it decided to make an appearance, which then barely lasted two days.
My doctor wouldn’t refer me. She said the tests are far too invasive to do without good reason, and that lack of pregnancy isn’t a concern unless you have been trying unsuccessfully for over a year.
“But it’s been a year. You took out my IUD a year ago.”
“Yes, but you conceived.”
“It wasn’t a full pregnancy.”
“But it shows you CAN conceive. So you have until June before it’s really a year without conceiving. Come back in June, if you’re not pregnant, and I’ll refer you then.”
I don’t want to be referred in June. If there’s something wrong that’s causing my irregular periods and lack of conception, I want to know now, not in June. And if there isn’t, I’d like to be reassured now, and not in June.
She gently reminded me that stress can cause irregular periods and suggested I be sure to exercise and take prenatal vitamins.
She’s probably right. It’s probably just stress playing havoc with my periods. There’s probably nothing wrong. But I felt really depressed after that appointment. Because I hate maybes and probablys.
I would rather have the invasive tests to get a definite answer. I would rather speak to someone who could advise me in greater depth about why I am not pregnant.
Maybe it’s all moot. Maybe the recent false memories and lost memories are early pregnancy hormones at work.
Or maybe the stress is making me crazy.
Either way, I’m failing at entertaining you all lately. So I’m going to start letting Owl entertain you instead with his elaborate story telling. Stay tuned.