I'm Canada!

I couldn't resist this silly quiz. I mean, it is 11:00 at night.

Turns out, I am Canada. It is somewhat fitting. We honeymooned there. We used to cross the border into Vancouver just for the funky, crazy chocolate bars. And we're always talking about how much we love the Canadians. Oh, right, and I love human rights and wacky things like health care for all.

"You're Canada!
People make fun of you a lot, but they're stupid because you've got a much better life than they do. In fact, they're probably just jealous. You believe in crazy things like human rights and health care and not dying in the streets, and you end up securing these rights for yourself and others. If it weren't for your weird affection for ice hockey, you'd be the perfect person."

What country are you from, eh?

Courtesy of the Oneliner.

Hey, It Wasn't Us!

Note to self: do not discuss your future sexual exploits with the internets. No good will come of it.

On Tuesday I drove like a maniac to the airport from work. Earlier that day I made many feeble attempts to clean out my office and wrap up some loose ends. I was told the day before that the next day would be my last and the new job would start Monday (crazy stuff with funding, etc., that I won't bore you with here). Was I bit frazzled? Yes.

When I got to the airport, the husband was waiting for me to check in and then whispered, conspiratorially, that there was a family restroom nearby. I could feel the eyes of three hundred travellers watching us as we sheepishly let ourselves in. Each and every one of them knew what we were doing. And they were disgusted! Ashamed! Horrified! I'm sure of it! Hey, back off, fellow travellers! I'm trying to make a family over here!

We tried. Everything. Standing up was a no go - I'm a bit wee. The counter made me want to wretch - I could only imagine what disgusting substances might lay there, unknown, undetected, beneath my precious, princess-like bottom.

I tried things. He tried things. People knocked on the door. People talked outside the door. People raced by the door. Babies cried. There were footsteps. Coughs. Mops.

It didn't work.

All in all it was one of the least sexy experiences of my adult career of sexy experiences.

And I'm pretty damn sure that I am again NOT "carrying a bun in the oven", "with child", "expecting", "full", "up the duff", "knocked up", "down the well" or "saving face" (thank you Wiki). But I suppose stranger things have happened. Like immaculate conception.

But do read what fun others are having.

Catching Up

I've been meaning to post for sometime now about the new understanding the husband and I have reached (he very kindly read: About What Was Lost), my new job (I got the job!) and life in general. Suffice it to say, things have been busy. But good. Despite the decidedly negative pregnancy test. Today, however, will be . . . interesting. I am going on a last minute trip to visit my folks (all is well, I just had some unexpected time off without the husband (he has to work)). Today is likely the day that I ovulate. And what is an ovulating girl who is about to set off in a plane to do? Command her husband to the airport and do the deed somewhere on the premises. Seriously. I'll let you know how we manage--and if this little exercise results in the two of us laughing sans clothes in a heap. Or in jail for indecent exposure. What a great story (horrifying?)to tell our offspring though, no?

The Big Ol' Goose Egg

Negative. Again. For the third time in so many days. Moving onto acceptance. Now I am truly annoyed.

Things that Annoy Me

1. Pucci. Is it ugly? Is it great? I can't decide.

2. Making stupid mistakes--like when the lead photographer at a five mile race calls and says, "Go on home" and I do and I find out later that he actually said, "Come home," meaning come back to the finish line and continue shooting.

3. When the Husband refuses to repeat something he's just said because he's decided that it's not worth repeating (generally this involves some kind of joke).

4. Being unable to give up my wellknownseattlecoffeehouse addiction. Don't make me do it.

5. Friends don't let friends walk around with ranch dressing smeared across their face, that's all I'm saying.

6. Being a slob, being bothered by it and then doing nothing about it.

7. The city heat.

8. Spending a lot of time trying to decide what to do on a weekend and then doing nothing.

9. Obscenely expensive bags. That I covet.

10. The Two Week Wait.

Prom.

The Husband was out early this morning and caught a glimpse of quite a few teens in fancy party dresses and tuxedos coming out of the pancake house on the corner. I wish I had been there. Something about that time--so early in the morning, after all the festivities are over, that transition between dependence and independence, childhood and adulthood. My nephew just sent this photo of himself and his girlfriend (what? his girlfriend?) from her prom. Although I must mention that they appear to be at some kind of drinking establishment. That sister of mine, her lax attitude about child rearing never ceases to amaze me. On second glance, perhaps that isn't alcohol in the background. I really love that he's wearing a hat. And that she's so slouchy.

I asked a friend of mine to my prom (all those many years ago). He graduated the year before. It was a secret crush. We'd been friends for sometime. I tried to play it cool. I broke up with someone just prior and it was the perfect opportunity to go with him as "friends." If only I could find that photo of us. He's standing about a foot taller than me, Lurch-like with one arm around what appears to be his child bride. I am wearing a shiny, satin dress with an astoundingly enormous green bow. This dress, however, pales in comparison to the blue and white pouf skirt monstrosity I wore a few months earlier. In addition to all the green loveliness, I somehow managed to pour an entire trough of burgundy makeup on my lips, eyes and cheeks. We went with another couple. She looks like Paulina Poriskova. I was convinced that my friend was in love with her. How could he not be? Her date also wore a hat. Much like my nephew. We went for dinner at the Siamese Cat. It may be the first time I ever ate Thai food. Ever the romantic, it was there that my friend spent several moments staring at my chest. I'm sure you won't be surprised then to learn that with this kind of romantic prowess, he managed to make me his for several years thereafter. Yes, several. Somehow, we remain friends. His first child (I've mentioned before), a boy, is due in October. Ah, youth. How has it slipped me by?

About What Was Lost

If you are in the New York area:

Twenty Writers on Miscarriage, Healing, and Hope

Tuesday, Jun 12th - 7:00 PM

@ McNally Robinson, 52 Prince Street, New York, New York 212-274-1160

"With editor Jessica Berger Gross and readings by contributors Sue O’Doherty, Caroline Leavitt, Andrea Buchanan, Miranda Field, Rochelle Jewel Shapiro, and Rachel Zucker. Though up to one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage, the subject remains one of the last taboos, its painfulness often compounded by silence and confusion. Editor Jessica Berger Gross brings the subject of women’s experience of miscarriage into the light with this intimate anthology, each piece written first-hand by a woman who lost a pregnancy. Five of the contributors will read from their contributions in this evening of revelation and discussion, and begin a conversation about shared and private griefs that hope to illuminate the subject of miscarriage."

I've had this on my calendar for months--and was disappointed when I had to schedule a hearing that day (there was no way I would be able to make it). Alas, hearing adjourned! I'll be there. I have my doubts that the Husband will be anxious to attend such a femfest, but we'll see.

Don't Call Me, I'll Call You

I believe I must have neglected to inform the universe that I did not, not at this point in time, care to lose my cell phone. Not now. Not ever.

I just hung up from a very lengthy, somewhat unpleasant conversation with a rich, very rich inhabitant of a very rich, very famous area in New York when I made a mad dash out my office door and into my car. Just prior, I was grabbing files, throwing shoes in my bag, trying to prepare to work in the other office on Thursday. Afterwards, I ran to my car, threw off my sweater (careful to do so with the utmost decorum lest I horrify the co-workers), jumped into my car and sped off. When I heard a clunk. And thought, "Hmm, where's my cell phone?" I drove into the nearest parking lot, hopped out of the car and looked feverishly about. Inside. Outside. In cracks. Under seats (disgusting, truly, truly disgusting). Drove BACK to work, looked in the office, called the phone, looked back in the car and . . . nothing. Somehow I managed to lose my cell phone between the time it took to walk from my office door to my car door.

I hate losing things. I HATE. Losing. Things.

I have become, I think, increasingly disorganized lately as my job has become increasingly more complicated. Which is exactly the opposite of how things should be going. As I feel my way around this new aspect to my job - which entails going to an entirely new building and dealing with completely new issues, new people and oh, yes, did I mention, new law, I am finding myself disorganized, confused, scattered. Earlier today it took me several moments to realize that the cop I was talking to was calling about a completely different case than I thought he was. This wouldn't be so unusual, I suppose, except that he is NOT the officer assigned to that particular case and he works for a completely different department.

Anyway. Have I mentioned I hate losing things? I lose things with some frequency. But only for moments. Minutes really. They always turn up.

I believe, actually, that my cell phone decided to make its escape today. It had been looking a little tired lately. In need of a vacation. Some time apart. It took its opportunity the moment I drove into that parking lot searching for it. It somehow managed to leap out and fall beneath my car and out of view just after I opened the car door.

Cell phone? If you are out there. Come back to me. I hate to lose you.

Miss Positive!

This evening the Husband and I were discussing, amidst our disgusting sweatiness post-run, our weekend plans. We will be accompanying another couple (possibly two couples!) to a movie - you know the one, it involves a comic book, arachnids, a photographer, a redhead, etc. We believe that this particular couple will finally be coming out of the closet--announcing their pregnancy. This was their second IVF cycle. We really couldn't be happier for them. And I mentioned to the Husband how positive she always was--she was upset many, many times, but she always said that she just knew that it would work out, eventually. I need to take a clue from her, and from The Infertility Times. So, here goes:

I will get pregnant.
I will stay pregnant.
I will have a healthy pregnancy.
We will have a healthy child/children.
We will be parents.
I will get that job.
And a kicky new hairstyle.

Got that Universe? Do you?

All right then. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

That Would Be a Zero

When I was a teenager, I applied for a fairly prestigious, competitive student exchange program. It defined itself as "a non-profit, completely volunteer program, aimed at making a significant contribution to global peace." If selected, you live with a student your own age in another city in another country. Then you both come back to the States for the rest of the school year. Hundreds of kids from around the state apply each year. There are interviews. There are group events. There are group interviews. There are a dozen or so "cuts." The hundreds of kids are cut down to dozens, the dozens eventually to a group of fifteen, the fifteen to a group of twelve. I was down to the last fifteen. And I was one of the three that was not selected. I must have cried for a week straight. As the step-father of a friend was on the board, I found out the reasoning behind the cut: I was incredibly late for the last event. I was going to be selected, so he claimed, but for that. And I was, I was incredibly late. I had simply forgotten about it. And when I remembered I rushed there but it was really too late. And I knew that I hadn't made it. I sensed it. But that phone call was still incredibly awful.

And so today, today when I had that interview for a job that I really, really want and she asked if I was a "morning person" and I said that I was actually not a "morning person" but that I had trained myself to be, I could feel the job slipping away from me. Not from that, precisely, but because I could never really connect with her. We were just off. I was off. She is intense, brilliant and intimidating. And I just couldn't get my footing with her. Although I already work for the department, this position is located within biking distance from my house. As it stands, I have a very, very, very long commute to work. This was the first time we had ever met. And unfortunately there was just no love connection. It was akin to being on a very bad date. We just couldn't get going, on anything. Chuck Woolery would not have been asking me to come out from backstage. And so, I have that same feeling. But I hope that I am wrong.

I do love my current job. So, I have to remember that. But I will be greatly disappointed if I'm not offered this position. Working there would be a dream come true. Really. In all the fluffy clouds, rainbows and unicorn silliness, it would be fantastic.

I am also very much not pregnant this month. I didn't feel pregnant (seeing as I have become an expert on "feeling pregnant") but used approximately 1,005 pregnancy tests in order to be sure. I will be buying stock in pregnancy tests very, very soon. It also brought back all those old fears--afraid of never being pregnant again, afraid of being pregnant, afraid of miscarrying again, afraid of giving up.

My friend called to tell me that he and his wife found out the sex of their baby (due in October) - it's a boy. He wanted to know at what point the baby is able to survive outside the womb so that he can stop worrying so much (he's apparently in a constant state of anxiety about the health of their baby). I told him I couldn't exactly remember (anyone know? 26 weeks?) but that that was parenthood (because you see, I am an expert at parenting, I have dogs) - constantly worrying about your offspring. Kinda sweet, really. He also told me I should have lied about being a morning person. That's not my style. Basing your opinion on one's biorhythms seems a tad ridiculous.

In the end, I should say, that I applied for a different exchange program and spent a wonderful, memorable summer in Valencia, Spain. Mostly wonderful. But that's another story.

My Husband is Funnier than Your Husband

When I began doing the mad on-line research in the oh-so-naive-this-can't-be-happening-to-us phase, I was completely confused, perplexed and at times annoyed with all the "BD" and "POAS" and the "AF." What were these people talking about? And why can't they spell anything out? Uh-huh, so BD and POAS 13 DPO and BFP! Wha??? And where is this magical infertility dictionary anyway? And now? I think I probably know about 33% of the acronyms going (I figured out POAS about three days ago) and am just generally too lazy or still too annoyed to go hunting for the answers (ah, laziness, how I love you.) So, I couldn't resist giving my husband (who reads infertility blogs all of the time! ALL OF THE TIME, I TELL YOU!) The Quiz. I think he actually fared better than I did.

His response:

"I don't have to guess. I know all of these.

AF - Adult Fetus
IVF - In Vino Fabulo (Latin for, "You get better when you're allowed to drink, preggo.")
IUI - I'm Using It (Heard by husbands who were hoping to get some time in the bathroom, but hadn't counted on their wife having strange new needs)
IF - I'm Fat (frequently heard from hormonal--but lovely--pregnant ladies)
PG - Proctor & Gamble (Duh!)
TTC - Time Temperature and Custard (New--and not incredibly popular--cable channel which informs viewers of the time and the temperature and also shows well-lit photos of custard.
DPO - Don't Put Out (Best way to avoid pregnancy)
BFP - Best Friends Porever (Phrase found in many dyslexic's yearbooks)
BFN - Best Friends Narwhale (Phrase found in many schizophrenic's yearbooks)
POAS - Post Office Asshole Stamp (New stamp celebrating the 1000th anniversary
of Assholes)
OPT - Other Person's Tushie (Polite version of a 90s hip-hop classic)
CD - Compact Disc (c'mon people, this one's not that hard)
BD - Bette Davis (Pregnant women often have a craving for All About Eve)
DH - Die Hard (Their husbands usually sneak into the bedroom and watch this instead)
ET - Extra Taco (You're eating for two now)
ER - Extra Raisinets (Seriously, you're eating for two)"

Ah, I lurve that man.

Today is my last day at this fine age. My father, who's birthday was just this past Wednesday, spent it climbing Machu Pichu (with my mother). At age seventy. Pretty rockin'.

Crossroads

The husband and I came to the realization over the weekend that if I have another miscarriage, I will resent the hell out of him . . . and if we never try again, he will resent the hell out of me. How does one move forward with such a realization?


When I am fairly set on the whole, "Forget it - I’m never trying again" idea, I see something like this. This kid. This adorable kid. Or I think of my husband with his child, our child. Or I think about who he or she, this child, could be. Unconsciously. And I feel, if not optimistic, something akin to maybe hope. Maybe. Maybe. But mainly, I feel terrified. We shall be trying again soon. Sigh. Let the freakitude begin. Little red pills, activate.

Soy Idiota

So, I was minding my own business today--at a stop light, when this big, huge truck comes barreling backwards into me. Apparently, he was trying to parallel park. Into my car. There's now a large dent on my hood. And because I a) cannot think under pressure and b) was just driving for two very long hours and c) am an idiot, I listened to the guy complain about how he didn't want his insurance to go up and would I just take some money for the dent and be on my merry way. And so, again (see above) I said OK. And then later, upon arriving home, felt like the biggest moron on the planet. I decided to return to his place of work (I know where he works) and tell him that I just couldn't do it, return the money, and go through the proper channels. But his work was closed. I then called the police in order to file a report of the accident and was told that because the accident occurred several hours before, I would need to go to the precinct and make a report in person. You know, because I AM THE IDIOT WHO DIDN'T CALL AT THE TIME. Nope, all I wanted to do when it happened was to get away from the driver, his various friends who seemed to be wandering about the street piping in with their two cents, and go home. I didn't particularly care about my car at that moment--the car has several dents in it already that I have not repaired because I do not want to put money into the car except for general maintenance (it's quite old with a lot of miles and used exclusively for my long commute). My thought process (if you could call it that) today was that it was unlikely that I would take the time to get it repaired so I might as well just take the money and be done with it. Now, however, I just feel completely stupid and sick about it. In situations that involve cars, I completely lose all sense. For example, I just spent a fortune on tires--which I may or may not have really needed. For some reason, when the auto is involved, I become so nervous and agitated that I cannot function properly. It's like a sickness.

Moving on (for anyone who knows me, that's the most hilarious statement ever--I don't tend to "move on" - I tend to lose sleep and stress about things such as these for days). I shot a race this weekend. Prior to it starting, all traffic was cleared on a bridge from Manhattan to one of the outer boroughs. I was stationed there and the view was incredible. No traffic. No people. Just me and the freezing wind and my camera. And that incredible city skyline in front of me.

In response to my previous post - those situations really are unbearable to me. But I am trying not to live that way--I am trying to move on. But they are always noted. And I am not always successful--in the moving on bit. But I cannot stay or do not want to stay or am afraid to stay in the darkness forever. And sometimes I think the only way to shut it out is to just shut that door--to never have children, to just never try. If I never try, I'll never have to feel that again. But I know that that is not really true. It will always be with me. Always.

Not Knocked Up

The husband and I saw Knocked Up recently. It was a sneak preview for the press--and the company that organized it offered free tickets to fill the rest of the theater. The husband and I see a lot of movies this way. Free! We like free. This time I was late. I drove into the city, miraculously found a free parking space and ran in, expecting to be hassled and turned away. Instead, I got a knowing nod, a quick, “Press, right?” and a seat in the VIP section. Yes, I am press. I write a blog, people! Sometimes being a stuffy attorney in a suit carrying a briefcase has its perks. I do admit that I feel somewhat guilty about it. But really, there was a whisking, a flashlight, an arm steering, etc. Would you stand and argue? The husband had no idea I had arrived, let alone seated, and so we each watched the movie solo.

I missed the first twenty minutes. I sat down just as the main character slowly realizes that she may be pregnant, and that the father is likely a man she knew all of twenty minutes. She and her sister make a mad dash to the pharmacy to acquire about six dozen pregnancy tests. And she uses them all. And there are a lot of scenes of the two of them sitting on toilets, peering at tests, turning them upside down, staring at smiley faces or glowing suns or 3D plus signs. And there are moments when this thing, this infertility thing, this recurrent miscarriage thing, completely knocks me out. Moments when I can’t watch some harmless, goofy movie that involves pregnancy. Moments when I sink lower into my seat and wonder if I should just make a quick exit. It is not always like this. There are days where I can, and in fact do, talk to women about their pregnancies, go to chi-chi baby clothing stores (RED ALERT: Do not go to baby clothing stores with your mother-in-law, she will insist that the young boy be dressed like Little Lord Fauntleroy, complete with velvet suits, lace collars, sashes and short knee-pants, and she will become insulted when you suggest that the boy’s mother might not want to dress her newborn son in what looks suspiciously like girl's clothes), listen to my sister describe each and every one of her four birth experiences ad nauseum in the same conversation we were discussing my INFERTILITY and I am fine. There are some days, however, when it is just decidedly, absolutely, not. I decided to stay. And afterwards, it was just so nice to see the husband. It was raining ever so slightly. And he really, really enjoyed the movie. I asked him why and he said, “Well, I thought it was really funny, and well, really, I just love babies.” It is so sweet to hear him say that, and so devastating as well.

Today was the due date of my last pregnancy.

Cutest Child Ever

Amniotic Fluid Leak

My sister-in-law is due in one month. She began leaking amniotic fluid today. She is being rushed in for an emergency c-section. I have been having a difficult time gleaning any information about this condition on-line. If you have any information regarding this, please let me know. We are all feeling a bit scared right now.

Thank you.

**UPDATE**
My sister-in-law is in labor - but it is slow going. They won't actually perform a c-section unless the labor goes on for too long. At the moment, she is hungry and unhappy. She told me she'd rather it were me than her-my instant reaction was that I was glad it was her and not me--which is sort of weird. Anyway. She's not too peppy or overly enthused about "the process." I didn't ask her when she was going to get in the tub for that water birth--I'm not sure she would have found it too amusing right now.

**UPDATE**
All amniotic fluid was drained and they were forced to induce. The baby was born at 1:00 AM this morning at 5 pounds, 6 ounces. He's on a breathing apparatus but mom and baby are both doing well. She will be leaving on Friday and baby will be released hopefully in a few days. The husband and I are ecstatic and can't wait to meet him.

Note: After some research I've learned that Tim Curry was born on April 19th. And The Simpsons debuted on April 19th in 1987 on the Tracey Ullman show. If you knew the husband and the family you would understand why I find these two facts so great and so funny. The husband's family all have great senses of humor and The Simpsons is a family favorite. And Tim Curry? How funny is that that my sweet nephew shares a birthday with Tim Curry? I mean, my husband shares a birthday with Marie Osmond. They are, I have to say, very much alike. It's uncanny, really.

Happy Birthday!

Spring Fertility Festival

I am surrounded by pregnancy. Everyone is pregnant. I am awaiting my 68-year-old mother’s announcement that she’s pregnant, along with everyone else I know, including some of my male friends, who I am sure have rigged up some system with spark plugs and USB cords to make themselves pregnant as well. My first due date would have been August 15, 2006. The last one, May of this year. The pregnants or just-were-pregnants:

Friends G & M: boy born September 2006 (first son born June 2005)
Friends C & C: boy born September 2006
Cousin A: girl born October 2006
Sister-in-law: due May 2007
Friends C & J: due June 2007
Boss: due August 2007
Co-worker: due August 2007
Ex: due October 2007
Friends M & V: due December 2007

I think I may have missed someone. Although it FEELS as though everyone I have ever met is currently pregnant or in the throws of new parenthood, everyone is in fact not pregnant and everyone is not right-this-minute staring lovingly into the eyes of their perfect, perfect, perfect newborn. Thanks for those friends who abhor the whole kid thing. I can at least pretend to focus on something else. My wanting to close this chapter and move on - accept our lives as they are now and just be - hasn’t changed. But I do recognize that it is partly due to the bitterness, resentment, fear, sadness and exhaustion that is infertility.

When I received the baby shower announcement (Yesterday? Was it really yesterday?) I responded with a quick, "Yes! I will attend!" Then I proceeded to peruse their baby registry. And became very, very, very upset. It is possible that the husband (this is a co-ed baby shower, apparently–and many of his college friends will be in attendance) will have little patience with my desire not to go. Or perhaps I have little patience with myself (Go on! Live! Quit this!). Yet, I find it painful. Can I attend such a thing? Do I have to? Do I tell her why? Do I suck it up and pretend that all is well? Do I just make my mind a blank and soldier on? I don’t know. But I have changed my reply to, "Maybe."

The X-Factor

I was planning on writing about hanging out with the ex-girlfriend. How it was fine. And that she’s perfectly nice and her husband is perfectly nice. And how, unfortunately, I am fairly certain that I offended him by a) discussing how much better everything is in the WORLD now that smoking has been virtually banned in New York - not realizing that he is in fact, a smoker and b) commenting on his Southern accent - which he apparently thought was no longer discernible. I must say here, I have no issues with Southern accents–it’s more of an academic interest in that I was, at one time, thinking about going into linguistics. I was also going to mention how I carefully selected a low-cut black dress, boots and a turquoise necklace in order to wow my husband and he barely batted an eye. And I spent the rest of the evening feeling embarrassed because I never, and I mean never, show that much, if any, cleavage. And then I was going to discuss the fact that the husband’s other ex-whatever (never an actual girlfriend), you know, the one who carried a torch for said husband until yesterday (I exaggerate, surely), showed up unexpectedly. But then I had this conversation with my ex-boyfriend, today: his wife is pregnant. Twelve weeks. And he was afraid to tell me. And he is, was, one of my closest friends (yes, I know, I have a close friend who is an ex-boyfriend-whatever–you think that stops me from complaining about hanging out with the husband’s ex-whatevers, no.). All this makes me feel one way: I am sick of this. I don’t want to try anymore. I want to completely close that door and move on. Did I say that I am sick of it? So, I sent them, the ex and his lovely wife (who, by the by, is not my biggest fan) a hooter cover and I plan on never speaking to him again.

Update: Friends of ours who have been trying to conceive, unsuccessfully, for years, are finally pregnant. It was their second IVF. I am genuinely thrilled for them.

Further Update: I just received a baby shower announcement. For a different friend. It's almost comical, really. Almost.

Even Further Update: Thank you, Alanis Morissette. The day wasn't a total wash.

Solace

I have been feeling myself let go, little by little. Of the never will be. Of the possibly never to be. Of who they were. Who I imagined them to be. I am looking. I am looking the other way. Now. For now. Or trying to. Without time. And it comes and goes. And I haven't felt the weight of it, for sometime now. And I am thankful for that.

Parliament Hill Fields

On this bald hill the new year hones its edge.
Faceless and pale as china
The round sky goes on minding its business.
Your absence is inconspicuous;
Nobody can tell what I lack.

Gulls have threaded the river's mud bed back
To this crest of grass. Inland, they argue,
Settling and stirring like blown paper
Or the hands of an invalid. The wan
Sun manages to strike such tin glints

From the linked ponds that my eyes wince
And brim; the city melts like sugar.
A crocodile of small girls
Knotting and stopping, ill-assorted, in blue uniforms,
Opens to swallow me. I'm a stone, a stick,

One child drops a barrette of pink plastic;
None of them seem to notice.
Their shrill, gravelly gossip's funneled off.
Now silence after silence offers itself.
The wind stops my breath like a bandage.

Southward, over Kentish Town, an ashen smudge
Swaddles roof and tree.
It could be a snowfield or a cloudbank.
I suppose it's pointless to think of you at all.
Already your doll grip lets go.

The tumulus, even at noon, guards its black shadow:
You know me less constant,
Ghost of a leaf, ghost of a bird.
I circle the writhen trees. I am too happy.
These faithful dark-boughed cypresses

Brood, rooted in their heaped losses.
Your cry fades like the cry of a gnat.
I lose sight of you on your blind journey,
While the heath grass glitters and the spindling rivulets
Unspool and spend themselves. My mind runs with them,

Pooling in heel-prints, fumbling pebble and stem.
The day empties its images
Like a cup or a room. The moon's crook whitens,
Thin as the skin seaming a scar.
Now, on the nursery wall,

The blue night plants, the little pale blue hill
In your sister's birthday picture start to glow.
The orange pompons, the Egyptian papyrus
Light up. Each rabbit-eared
Blue shrub behind the glass

Exhales an indigo nimbus,
A sort of cellophane balloon.
The old dregs, the old difficulties take me to wife.
Gulls stiffen to their chill vigil in the drafty half-light;
I enter the lit house.

By Sylvia Plath

To Kill a Mockingbird

I tried my first case in November. The final decision was rendered . . . today. And I lost. To say that I am pissed off, worried and devastated . . . is an understatement. When we did a site visit, and I witnessed the wildlife and vegetation at the site, I remember thinking about how awful it would be if it were developed. It will be developed. And I am just so sad. Not to mention that this is not good for my career. Did I mention that I am going to dinner with several of my husband's college friends, including an x-girlfriend tonight? And that she (and her husband) are staying with us? And that I have never met her before? Honestly, I am ok with it, she's always been extremely nice and there does not seem to be any residual feelings there--on either side. But it is a bit weird. In short, there will be much imbibing of alcohol tonight.